jellytae

[jellytae]

meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

TAGLIST |MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them. 

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core. 

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR. 

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey.​ Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet. 

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.” 

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…” 

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.” 

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought. 

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity. 

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his. 

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

READ BELOW!!

the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰

[jellytae]

High Demand

ꕤ- Pairing: Dealer! Jungkook x Reader

ꕤ- WC: 2.6k

ꕤ- A modern day Romeo and Juliet

Content: college student! reader, grumpy jk, brief texting! au, jk is lowkey whipped, drug use (marijuana), reader is his special customer, vaping, opposites attract, suggestive themes, minor jealousy, idiots in love (but they won't admit it), shot gunning, grinding, fwb?

Other Content: thigh riding, high sex, jk titty appreciation, unprotected sex (no.), hand job, soft dom kook, reader is a little needy, brief switch! koo, hickeys, pet names, spit, biting.

Shaking your head with a small giggle as you looked at your phone before tossing it aside. You're totally his favourite. You know he's stubborn and he would never admit it but deep down he loves delivering to you the most.

Looking around your sad and dimly lit dorm, all the lights were off and your roommate was gone for the weekend doing god knows what with her weird ass biology major boyfriend who would collect rabbit tails in jars for 'science'.

You were looking at one right now actually, it seems they left one behind, on the coffee table. It was just fermenting in... you actually weren't sure and didn't want to know.

Your eyes felt like they were on fire the longer you looked at the stupid philosophy paper you were writing. The bright light from your laptop was beginning to drill into your head. Your head lolled to the side glancing at the time on your phone.

It was almost 11:30, and time for a break. Abandoning the device on the couch for a quick wake-up shower; by the time you'd gotten changed and returned to the living room, you could expect Jungkook any minute now.

Except, this is Jungkook we're talking about. He's always late.

That's why when you heard the familiar rattling of the rusty fire escape you were startled. It was a little past midnight. Climbing through the window in nothing but your basketball shorts and a white tee.

Pleasantly surprised to see Jungkook scaling the platform with a bag of takeout pinned in between his teeth. The sight of you looking down at him from where he climbed made his eyebrows raise but of course he couldn't say anything.

Not until he was finally close enough for you to grab the bag from his mouth and he stands up. You climb back inside first with him following behind with a pained sigh. "I'm so sick of coming here. Got me climbing walls like its fucking subway surfers." He curses while you place the food down on the table.

Completely ignoring him, practically drooling as you slowly peeled open the bag. "And I thought you said you weren't gonna bring me anything." He snatches the bag.

"I didn't."

You let yourself fall onto the couch, arms crossed and unbelieving. "Oh yeah? So you just coincidentally craved Wendy's and decided to haul it up three flights up a ladder from your mouth when you could've just eaten it in the car?"

"Yeah exactly." He shrugs, obviously lying.

"Give me the bag, Jungkook."

"Fine. But I'm charging you extra for the delivery and the labour of bringing it up here." He hands it to you and you roll your eyes knowing it was nothing more than a bluff.

"It's not my fault you're out of shape," you mumble unwrapping the burger. "Oh yeah? Is this what out of shape looks like to you?" He says it almost offended but challenged.

Choking briefly on your food as he lifts up his shirt, revealing the defined abs that you have such lewd memories of. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You try climbing 3 flights up a ladder and tell me it's easy." You shrug,

"Not my fault you're banned from the campus." He drops himself down beside you, reaching for the bag of fries and taking some for himself. "But it is, if you hadn't called me to drop off a stash for Angelica's dorm party maybe I could still take the stairs."

You drop your half-eaten burger with apologetic eyes, "How was I supposed to know they were doing random security checks in the lobby? At least you didn't get arrested." You pout and he scoffs.

"Bare minimum." He says via grumpy mutter under his breath so you offered up the rest of your food to him as a peace offering. A little sad that he actually took it but you were getting full anyway.

As he finished up the rest of your food you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "So do you still do drops with Angelica?" He nods with his mouth full of the last bite, stuffing the wrappers back in the bag.

"How often does she call you?-- for deliveries I mean." He chuckles, licking his lips, "Jealous?" You take the trash off the coffee table and bring it to the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. "You're delusional."

"I can't help it if I'm in high demand." He manspreads, his arms stretched over the back of the couch. "Just shut up. Do you have my pen?" He reaches for the pocket inside his leather jacket, pulling out the slim box.

Already knowing that you were going to use it now, he began to unbox it while you collected the cash you needed. "40 right?" You say handing him the small spread of bills, "Yeah, but for you, I guess I could make it 30." He shrugs conceitedly.

"Because I'm your favourite." You say and he shakes his head, "No. Because I ate your food." Which he paid for but you didn't dare to say that out loud, you were getting cheap weed.

"So who's your favourite then Jungkook?" He hands you the pen, "Listen. I don't climb up the fire escape when I do deliveries for Angelica, I make her come to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Trying to tug the pen out of his grasp but he holds it firm until you respond, "I guess I can work with that." He smiles softly, letting you take the first hit as his arm wraps around your shoulder.

The two of you passed the pen back and forth, with little giggles here and there and wide eyes on the episode of SpongeBob that was playing.

By now the dark living room is illuminated by nothing more than your roommate's lava lamp and a strip of purple LEDs' taped behind the TV. You could see the smoke as it floated past the few sources of light.

"Open." He directs, taking a particularly long hit, leaning into you and blowing the pungent smoke into your mouth, sucking it in from his lips.

The pen is now forgotten as it rolls between the cracks of the couch. Straddling Jungkook's muscular thigh as he flexed it every now and then, taking hits from his blueberry Ice vape and blowing it to the ceiling, giving you a prime view of his sharp jaw under the soft purple lighting.

The sight made you shake, gyrating your hips almost desperately as you chased the feeling of friction on his denim-clad thigh. "You like that? You feel good fucking yourself on my thigh?" The question was rhetorical, you were too dazed to answer him anyway.

Your heavy-lidded gaze slowly rolls up to his pretty face once you feel his hand move from your hips to gently wrap around your neck, not applying any pressure, just there to let you feel the weight of his hand. "Answer me," He says, and you fall forward "Yess, feels so good." You moan, and Jungkook has danced this dance with you enough to see you were close.

But of course, he couldn't let you cum so soon, not yet. His hands flew to your hips and pinned you down on his thigh, restricting your range of motion. "Please," You beg and he wishes he had a little more willpower but he couldn't say no to you, not when you looked so fucked out when he's barely touched you.

"Fuck. Take your shirt off." Leaning back and crossing your arms over the base of the shirt, you pried it off your body desperately. Leaving you in your black lacy bra and it pulled out a guttural groan from Jungkook's chest.

"You little whore." he grits through his clenched teeth, grip tightening on the arm of the couch nearly ripping the fabric.

This position was no longer giving him what he so desperately craved. Shrugging the jacket from off his shoulders and taking off the tank top underneath letting your eyes roam over his built upper body, oh how you wanted to just...

Without thinking your tongue striped up the expanse of his bulky pecs. This was new, but Jungkook was so high out of his mind anything and everything you did felt like he was on cloud 9.

Your mouth dropped down to wrap around his rosy nipples and you could've never anticipated the worked-up reaction you got from him. "Oh shit, shit shit." He gasps, hands gripping your waist tight enough that you're sure there will be bruises by the morning.

Letting your tongue lap around his nipples with pure hunger, an inexplicable flame burning in your core as you were finally the one who got to watch the other be reduced to a moaning mess.

His once soft moans turned a little breathy and high-pitched, His hips bucked causing you to jolt in his lap, he was getting close.

"Didn't think you'd like having your tits played with so much?" You tease him but he didn't find the humour in it. He holds you by the throat once more, this time applying a generous amount of pressure, pushing you off him.

Unbuckling his belt and you knew what that meant. He slides out of his pants, followed by the boxers that were the last barrier between your moistened lips and his throbbing cock. "Let's put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" He hums, watching as you sink to your knees, hand carefully wrapped around his base, starting with slow pumps.

"Spit on it." Doing as told, you let a wad of spit fall from your pretty, plush lips and coat the shaft of his dick, you worked your palm up his length. Already satisfied with the way his head was thrown back.

"Just like that," Reaching for the vape, he takes a few good hits, the head rush mixed with the pleasure had him seeing stars-- the object falling from his hands immediately the moment he felt the warm heat of your mouth wrap around his sensitive tip.

"Y/n-" He breathes out, almost scared, he was so close, too soon. He's never struggled to hold himself back this badly before. What were you doing to him?

The obscene sounds of you choking as you struggled to take all of him in your mouth, letting your nose touch the soft, trimmed hairs near his base. Focusing on breathing through your nose before you felt a heavy hand on the back of your head, pushing you lower.

You were quite literally slobbering on his dick, gagging with every buck of his hips. "That's it, princess. You're doing so well--Shit. Mouth feels like fucking heaven." His praise rushes to your core and has your left hand trailing down to rub yourself through your lace underwear.

The rough friction being more than enough to get you there, "I'm gonna cum, baby. Where-- Shit!-- Where do you want it?" He gasps, his hips snapping, pushing his length down your throat almost erratically. You don't answer, only hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper, making your desires clear.

Your own fingers quickening their pace, your own sounds travelling through his dick in vibrations and pushing him right over the edge with you, filling your mouth with his warm cum.

Swallowing as if it were second nature. "Stick out your tongue," He says softly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to regain his composure from his overwhelming climax. Your tongue was out and cleared of any of his cum and it made him crazy.

He remembers the first time he'd brought an order to you over 6 months ago. He thought you were nothing more than a cute little philosophy major, never did he think he'd have you beneath him like he does right now.

Looking up at him, daring to give you an almost angelic gaze while the two of you ruined each other. Tainting each other with your own touches. "Kiss me?" You ask it so cutely, tempting him with the pout on your lips. You weren't being fair.

His body didn't give him a choice before his lips were on yours, his hips grinding into yours. The feeling of his solid dick rolling against your skin making the butterflies go ramped in your stomach.

The way you licked over his bottom lip with your own made Jungkook weak, stumbling on his elbows as he held himself up over you. Soft groans could be heard the deeper the kiss became.

Messy and intimate. Your hand crept up the back of his neck to tug at the dark locks of hair on his head. There was a loud pop and the two of you paused.

With Jungkook between your legs and with you under him, your heads turned slowly towards the coffee table where the jar was, dedicated to the fermenting rabbit tail. "What the fuck is that?" Jungkook slowly sits up, "My roommate's boyfriend's weird biology shit. I dunno, it freaks me out too." You sit up, now remembering what the two of you were in the middle of doing.

"That shit's not gonna blow up or anything right." You gently peck him on the lips but his brain seems preoccupied by the jar, "who knows," you say, kissing right under his ear and that seemed to get him to zone in on you.

Catching his bottom lip under his teeth as your kisses became more eager, suckling on a certain spot on his neck, his head falling back against his will. "Fuck, Y/n-- Don't you dare." You pull off his soft skin with a soft pop, admiring the burgundy bruise left behind.

"Oops." Your apology was ingenuine and bratty, and Jungkook hated brats.

Tearing you out of your final pieces of clothing before manhandling you into his lap. "Sit on it." He demands and you follow without question. Moaning out loud as his dick spread your lips apart like butter.

Sliding down with ease and a stretch of your velvety walls that were currently squeezing Jungkook for everything he's got and he's got nothing left, everything was yours.

"I-Shit! You feel so good, Kook!" He couldn't bother to correct you on the annoying nickname you were incessant on using. "Yeah? You like that- fuck, you feel so good." He curses, bucking his hips up into you as you raise your hips trying to match his thrusts.

He was fucking you so good, so ruthlessly, your head falls onto his shoulder and you needed more than just the couch to hold on to, your teeth sank into the muscular meat of his shoulder and his pace faltered.

"Shit shit shit! Do that again." He groans, picking up an inhumane pace that had you bouncing all over the place until he stilled you in his arms. His grunts and breathy moans came out right beside your ear only pushing you to your orgasm faster.

"J-jungkook-!" You pant, unable to speak, feeling like your insides are being rearranged, "Me too, baby. Cum with me." You finish first, and with a few more unsynchronized snaps of his hips, you were being filled to the brim with his cum.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of muffled music playing from your neighbour's next door and laboured breaths. Jungkook gently lays you down on the couch beside him, staring into your eyes.

This felt so intimate. You felt his gaze deeper than just behind your eyes, it was as if he was looking into your soul. His eyes were tinted red as he looked at you with an adoring gaze. "You're cute." He says it casually as though he hadn't just fucked you.

Your eyes roll before they close, feeling the sleepiness begin to kick in. "Bet you say that to all your customers." Mumbling the words into his chest while he began to grin a little.

"Nope. Only to my favourite." Your eyes shoot open.

"I knew it."

[jellytae]

THIS SHIT WAS ACTUALLY FUCKING INSANEEEEE OMG THE WRITING ??;)7:&:&

twelve hours, m | jjk | then...

pairing(s): jungkook x reader; implied taehyung x reader

summary: You have twelve hours to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you. He's about to get married. You're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. Long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. Nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

this is part i | click here for part ii | total wc: 23k

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse and graphic violence, including the reader becoming physically scarred and having panic attacks; alcohol consumption; rich, this bachelor party is on a fuckin' YACHT, the best man is LOADED; JK and reader interacted in high school and haven't seen each other until now; angst and fluff and feels; cheating; high school smut + (in part ii) intense adult smut (fem reader, striptease, semi-public sex at school, nipple play (he's a bit obsessed with them), dry humping, m-masturbation, handjob, cumming on tits (and diamonds), cum-eating, mirror kink, spitting, tit fucking, m-receiving oral, scratching / biting / marking, penetrative sex, doggy); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV; the ask

non-idol!AU; film director!Jungkook x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader — ft best man, art trader!Kim Taehyung; dancer's bodyguard!Kim Namjoon and bodyguard!Kim Seokjin

> eyebrow pierced, tattooed, and long black-haired JK (with undercut) in a black suit because that's what we need in this life > reader's burlesque performance is heavily inspired by Dita Von Teese and her martini glass stage; music used is 'sweet dreams are made of this' and 'are you the rabbit?' both by Marilyn Manson.

--

"You have twelve hours."

"What happens after that?"

"He going to get married."

-

time left: 11:59

"Dude, she said anything goes."

Jeon Jungkook frowned, glaring at his best man. "You don't do dumb shit if you're going to marry them."

Kim Taehyung tilted his head, long black-brown stands curling around his defined cheekbones, dark brown eyes twinkling with slyness, looking handsome, amused, and devilishly single.

Because he was.

"Oh? You're finally admitting you're in love with your future wife?"

"... Of course."

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow. "How convincing."

-

time left: --:--

Jeon Jungkook.

Hm.

Did he remember you? Probably not. It was a long time ago, high school and all that. He was more adorable then and you were more rebellious then. Too rebellious, putting yourself in detention far too many times, leaving you with the class representative after hours, who turned out to be Jeon Jungkook, not because he was a good student but because everyone liked him. Athletic, creative, attractive, the epitome of the face of the class.

The teachers left you with tons of remedial work that you didn't bother to do during detention, choosing instead to annoy the class representative. Sitting close to him, staring at him, toying with his school supplies, pointing out when he was using the wrong equation for the math problem he was trying to solve.

"Why are you like this?" he snapped one day, smacking his pencil down and glaring at you. "Why do you pick fights and beat up upperclassmen and skip class and sneak around? What's the point?"

You spun your pen on your fingertips.

"I just want to spend time with you."

And you had kissed him.

Whether those words were real or not at the time didn’t matter, because, in time, they would become all too real.

-

time left: 11:45

"You're on stage in five minutes. We're very sorry for the delay."

You smiled, lips painted red, teasing and sculptural, covered in red and black Swarovski crystals and lush velvet, chained by fabric and thick clasps holding each piece together. "That's alright. I understand."

The employee bowed and left. The bachelor party was already in full swing. Loud chattering, clinking of glasses, rowdy laughter. You could hear it through the thin walls backstage, through the curtains, into your soul. A big party on a yacht.

Rich, decadent, ripe with sin.

Arranged by Kim Taehyung, a successful art trader and the best man of Jeon Jungkook, well-known director of indie films and the bachelor who was about to get married to a wealthy, very well-known social media influencer turned socialite. She had her face all over social media, so she needed another face equally as beautiful for the likes and the sponsors.

Young money, they called it.

You stood up, looking at yourself in the mirror.

Being on stage was different than real life.

It required red lips, immaculate black eyeliner, sharp and distinct, manicured brows, and perfectly pinned hair, dyed a cool-toned black to bring out a kind of surreal quality to your skin, as if you were more of a doll than a human being. The show costume tonight was black and red, packed with crystals so you would be glittering from every angle. Handcrafted bustier, separate corset, strappy panties, slinky floor-length skirt with a high slit, sheer stockings, tall heels, even a long cape that trailed on the floor, completed with heavy choker around your throat, covered in black diamonds.

You turned from the mirror and exited your green room, walking slowly and carefully. Two security guards followed you, keeping all staff away from your path. They were holding your ostrich feather fans.

Black and red.

Taehyung couldn't afford you and your act unless he blew his entire budget on your performance alone. However, you made an exception for him, because he had something you wanted.

The lights were dimming.

You stood next to the stage, seeing the two-meter-tall, gem-encrusted martini glass waiting for you.

There was a spotlight on it, scattering light all over the dark room, barely illuminating the faces in the audience. You could see him because he was in the front row, looking confused, large brown eyes, long black hair, eyebrow piercing, and hand tattoos.

It was his party.

Jungkook had no idea the main event Taehyung had arranged was a professional burlesque dancer.

Sudden silence.

Being on stage was just like real life.

You always had to play a character.

The music began.

"Sweet dreams are made of this..."

You glided on stage, and the lights followed.

-

time left: --:--

You sat with the teacher, waiting.

The whole thirty minutes elapsed.

"We will have to reschedule this parent-teacher conference."

It was on the tip of your tongue. They won't come. They don't care. Last night my mother shoved my hand into boiling water until I screamed my apology for not folding the laundry fast enough.

You pulled the sleeve of your large hoodie over your bandaged left hand.

"I did the remedial work..." you mumbled.

"It doesn't matter even if you got full marks on it. Your behavior hasn't changed. You'll be on cleaning classroom duty for the rest of the month unless your parents attend a meeting to talk about your behavior."

That was the only reason you weren't expelled or suspended. Despite all your bullshit, your grades were good. Excellent, even. Strangely good despite only attending half of your classes. The teachers still gave you punishments to make an example of you, but you wouldn’t be getting away with this if your name wasn’t at the top five percent of the class.

You were mopping the floor when someone called your name. You looked up, and there he was.

The class representative.

"Hello, Jungkook."

He must have stayed late for taekwondo. He was still in uniform.

"This isn't your day for cleaning duty," he said, sounding confused.

You smirked at him, teasing and sculptural.

"Every day is my day for cleaning duty now."

His dark brows knitted together, frowning. He walked to the entrance but did not step in, seeing the wet floor. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think they enjoyed my graffiti on the gym building," you mused, recalling the strong scent of the paint spray cans. Students and teachers had to look up the English phrase you had outlined on there to understand it. It spread around the school like wildfire before you were forced to paint over it.

I got an F and a C and I got a K too and the only thing that's missing is a bitch like U.

You even left the period for proper grammar.

"Your shirt is untucked."

You flipped up the bottom of your white dress shirt and flashed him your red bra. Jungkook jerked his head away quickly, trying to avoid looking. His eyes lingered anyway, because, of course, he was a teenager and you were well-educated in the stages of puberty. Not really because of school.

Mostly because of the internet.

"Oops," you purred, leaning against the mop handle. His eyes flickered to your face and your tongue curled around the edge of your upper lip before disappearing into your mouth.

Jungkook's ears and cheeks turned red. He backed up, away from the door.

You cocked your chin.

"Run along now, golden boy."

You let the coldness show now, tone dropping.

"Wouldn't want someone to see you talking to me, right?" you snarled.

Guilt clouded his features.

He ran.

You went back to mopping.

-

time left: 11:37

Your clients usually wanted very specific things from you. Glamor, first and foremost. Fantasy. They wanted to descend into hell, or at least feel that way. It's not cheating if you're not touching, they loved to say. They were usually old, wealthy, and surprisingly respectful of the craft.

Not so much you, but the craft.

Well, that's what the bodyguards were for.

There was something about a woman who lived in shadow that was appealing and enticed all the worst behaviors. Alcohol was usually involved, a depressant to the mind and stimulant to sin.

Taehyung had given you free reign.

"Go off. Do whatever you want."

It began with Sweet Dreams, but not just any sweet dreams. Sweet dreams with a grating, smoked growl, darker with guitars and low bass, a remix with longer instrumental parts. They saw the black ostrich feathers and glowing dark crystals first, followed by your haunting movements and feline predatory grace.

“Travel the world and the seven seas, everybody's looking for something...”

You could see him through the vanes of the feathers, jaw dropped, trying to take it in. Unlikely he recognized the singer. Marilyn Manson wasn't exactly who people thought of when burlesque was involved.

Ah, but the pain and agony in that voice was exactly what you wanted to convey.

"Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to be used by you..."

You lowered the fan, smirk on your lips. Tipped your head back, letting the diamonds on the choker catch the light, swaying to the movement of the music. There was smoke creeping down the sides of the curtains, adding to the strangeness of it all, as if one was stepping into another world. You turned your wrists inward, feathers gliding over your body, pulling back slowly, tongue tracing your lips.

The tip lingered at the edge of your upper lip and slid back in as you lowered your lashes.

“I want to use you and abuse you…”

You transferred one of the fans to your left hand, careful to place them so it looked like one massive fan. You swept it over your head, grazing your hair, covering part of your back.

“I want to know what's inside you…”

You knew the easiest and most elegant way to flick off the cape, pulling the fan back as it cascaded down, stroking your torso and catching onto your ass.

A deliberate flick of your hips and it fell off, revealing your form.

You looked back over your shoulder and found those brown eyes, frozen in his seat.

You could hear some boisterous whistles and cheers but you focused on personifying the music.

“Movin’ on…”

Every action was practiced, sharp, attentive. You were very aware of every arm movement, every line of your legs, every facial expression, every finger and every wrist flick. You commanded the stage with every step, almost lazy in facial expression, but your eyes were sharp, clear of all your surroundings.

You cocked an eyebrow, hiding behind your fans again.

The art of tease was not something you took lightly.

Your hand slid down, visible against the dark fabrics and sparkling crystals, long fingers spreading out.

Two slid between your legs, pushing the fabric in, outlining your pussy.

The delicate but forceful thrust of your hips, implying that perhaps, maybe, if one was lucky, they could have it.

All lies.

Your hand danced back up, unhooking your skirt and tossing it aside. A smooth, practiced motion, glistening as it tumbled through the air. Your stagehand caught it, hidden in the dark, the same one that had collected your cape from the floor earlier. No one noticed.

All eyes were on you.

You closed the fan slowly, lowering it, tracing the inside of your thigh.

Gazing at Jeon Jungkook under your lashes.

“Sweet dreams…”

Your slim tongue slid out from between your painted lips.

Slow, curling around the edge of your upper lip before disappearing into your mouth.

Taehyung had met you by chance. He had been invited to a fancy dinner party and you were the guest performance. That was your opium stage, with the green bed and white smoke, long robes and snake motifs. Writhing on the bedsheets, slithering, serpentine. The deliberate plucking of each finger from the long black opera gloves before pulling it off with one smooth motion, mining a moan as you tossed it aside. One, then the other. Then the stockings, holding it by the toe and leaning over the edge of the bed, raising your bent leg and pulling it over your shoulder, ass in the air. One and then the other. Your head tipped back, unlacing the corset, paying attention to your body line.

Nothing but pure seduction.

The host decided to hold a drawing for a private show, just for fun, and, lo and behold Kim Taehyung's luck, clutching the called-out number and pushed into a dark room with you.

He had looked from the two bodyguards to you, uneasy.

You had climbed into his lap.

"W-Wait, I thought I couldn't t-touch..."

"You can't."

Young money was starting to take over and thank God for that, because private dancing for old, entitled men was rather annoying and required the presence of the guards. A young man winning was just as lucky for you as it was for him. You never, ever allowed any of the men to touch you.

You touching someone, well, that was your choice.

When you tilted your head, you shifted your torso too, making the green and clear crystals on your silk robes catch the light, fluid and serpentine, hair cascading down your shoulder.

"Unless you want me to get off you."

Taehyung had stared into your eyes, tipsy and in awe of your movement.

"No."

He had placed his hands behind his back, baritone voice deep and heavy in anticipation.

"You can do whatever you want."

Now.

The song was changing.

You turned ninety degrees, balancing on the fans, bent over, staring into Jungkook's eyes.

Did you know?

You straightened slowly, turning your back to the crowd.

Reached back and undid the corset with one hand, slowly loosening the strings.

"I'm a kickstand in your mouth and I'm the tongue slamming on the brakes..."

Looked back and shook your ass, bending over again, tangling your fingers in the black cord as if you were trapped, strategic and deliberate, making eye contact with him, the one from long ago, class representative and all that. Still had that same handsomeness when he was dressed up, wearing an all-black suit, tailored and fitted. You could see his hand was tattooed, and he had a brow piercing, but still the same air of uncertainty when his eyes were on you. Whether that was simply the performance or because he recognized you remained to be seen.

You stood up and the corset slid down your legs, so heavy that it was a smooth motion.

You stepped out of it, flashing the iconic red soles.

The fans fell to the floor.

The ladder was set up.

You strode around the large martini glass, slow, long steps, all legs and ass, poised hands, and over-the-shoulder glances, promises unfulfilled.

"Don't want anyone else's hand on my gears..."

You placed a hand on the stem of the stage prop, lifting your leg and plucking off one Louboutin. You cast it aside. Then the other, keeping yourself balanced in tiptoe to maintain the illusion.

A lull in the music.

You toyed with the top of your stocking, loosening it.

“And I'll choke on all the diamonds…”

Leaned down, gripping the toe of the stocking. Balancing on one leg and leaning against the two-meter-tall martini glass, lifting your leg and bending your knee, tugging it off with one smooth motion, pulling up until it popped off your pointed toe.

Now the other.

"So ask yourself before you get in, know insurance won't cover this..."

Parted lips, lowered lashes, raw, sensual lust as the sheer fabric slid off your calf and foot.

"Are you the rabbit or the headlight?"

Guitars and bass, the music lulling at this part, accenting your actions.

Up the ladder.

The giant glass had water in it, complete with a sponge that looked like an ice cube.

You reached the top.

You traced the lip of the glass with your fingertips, bending over, cleavage and black diamonds, smirking.

Slid one leg in.

Cold.

Slid the other leg in.

Down, soaking yourself in the glittering water, tongue flickering, staring down at Jeon Jungkook.

"And is there room in your life... for one more breakdown?"

Now the real show was beginning, with a longer remixed version of Are you the Rabbit? as the backing music.

-

time left: --:--

You kissed him and he took more.

Not right away.

Slowly, with every detention.

First, it was just kisses.

You danced your fingertips on his arm and he shifted his body so it was over his chest. There wasn't much talking. Unbuttoning, yes. He was ashamed, so he didn't talk. You didn't need talking. No one was around except the janitors and they were cleaning the other wing of the school.

You knew. You served a lot of detentions.

Jeon Jungkook reached over and teased a button loose from your dress shirt, shivering.

He looked into your eyes.

You took his hand and lowered it to the next button.

He knew he shouldn't.

You scraped your chair across the floor and pressed your thigh against his, fingers gliding under his button placket, soft moan falling from your lips.

He didn't know what hit him.

He didn't know you caused trouble on purpose to stay late at school to avoid the war zone that awaited you at home. He didn't know that you were so starved for something that wasn't senseless reprimands that you were manipulating him. You didn't know either.

You only knew this was a different feeling than anger or pain, so you threw yourself in it.

Jungkook unbuttoned your school shirt and touched your skin as you touched his, breath catching in his throat as he came into contact with the softness.

The sun was setting.

Your head was tilting, placing your lips on his, sweet and intense, his fingers clumsy but gentle, curious at what was being offered, gasping as you crawled into his lap, hardness to heat.

There was no talking.

You lowered the straps of your bra, trapping your arms slightly, tugging it down. Not thinking about the consequence, not thinking that this was wrong, not thinking you shouldn't be doing this with the class representative who very clearly did not suffer from the same discourse you did.

Jungkook gasped, staring at your nipples with wide eyes.

Unlikely that he had ever seen any in real life and doubtful that he had ever thought it would be in this context of being stuck in detention with the class delinquent. It didn’t matter. He touched them first, hands on your breasts, and then looked up, startled, unsure.

Neither of you spoke.

You grabbed his fingers and made him pinch them as you kissed him, stifling your moan with his.

To be honest, you didn't even know if you liked that sort of thing.

It just seemed shocking, so you did it.

It sent sparks all over your skin and made you bounce in his lap, grinding down on his erection. The kisses were messy with too much tongue that did nothing, clearly done to avoid talking, his hands kneading and squeezing your breasts, a little too hard, but he didn't know. You had to grip his hand and loosen his hold, getting him to adjust pressure until it was a more comfortable.

Until it was pleasurable.

He broke the kiss suddenly and lowered his head, attaching his wet lips to your nipple.

Pain.

You whimpered and his touch softened to small licks, looking up at you for confirmation.

You nodded.

-

time left: 11:29

You picked up the ice cube sponge and drenched your front with cascading water again, gasping at the cold against your hot skin. It seeped into the crystal-covered bra, causing your nipples to harden.

"You can't escape, can't escape..."

You tipped your head, arching your back, gracefully leaning, unfolding your legs from under you and keeping them together as you raised them to the lip of the martini glass, delicately crossing at the ankles, toes pointed.

You spun on your ass, leaning back.

"All your demons, all you demons..."

Slow, flourishing.

Eyes on Jungkook the entire time.

"Watch out, watch out for your lovers..."

You stopped gradually, running your widespread fingers up your hips, your stomach, your breasts, touching everything, tracing the black diamonds on your neck. It was vanity, it was enviable, it was performance.

And every performance was a statement of lust.

It was the instrumental now. A friend had mixed this part for you, violins and piano bleeding into the original guitar and bass, slow and steady drums, a peculiar but mesmerizing blend of classical and rock.

You rose from the water, a few wet strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, but it only added to the elegant depravity.

Your nails, pointed, black, and covered in small gems, traced your cleavage, your flexible pink tongue dancing in the air, skin covered in glitter from the shimmering water, nearly blinding in the spotlight from your crystalline undergarments and glistening wet body. Most of the time, you would wear nipple covers. The fun ones with the cute tassels or the crystal-covered ones.

But this time.

You looked straight at Jungkook and formed his name with your lips.

This time, you had a message to send.

You unclasped your bra and revealed your bare nipples.

You saw Jungkook gasp, eyes widening.

Your stagehand came and you dropped the article of clothing over the edge, practiced and clean.

You picked up the ice cube and got on your knees, exquisite body line and open red lips, squeezing the sponge and drenching your front with rivers of water that followed your curves and dripped off your hard nipples.

Your body sparkled all over.

-

time left: --:--

He whispered your name against your skin, your nipples tingling and drenched in his saliva.

A clatter was heard down the hall.

You both scrambled to put your clothes on. He didn't wait for you to finish. He simply bolted from the room when he was dressed, leaving you there by yourself to somehow explain why you were in detention alone.

"He went to the bathroom," you drawled when the janitor asked. You were leaning on the two back legs of the chair and he scolded you to sit properly.

Jungkook didn't come back.

You went home after you had stayed for the time you were meant to be there.

Then the mop incident occurred.

You two never spoke outside of detention. Made it a point not to. You avoided him for that whole month. Skipped class, sure, but you always skipped class. The teachers didn’t bother to punish you for that anymore. You didn’t fight anyone though. Didn’t spray any more obscene phrases onto brick walls. Didn’t do anything to compound your month-long cleaning punishment.

After that was complete, well.

The next time you were alone with Jungkook, your lower lip was clotted with blood and you had strangled some girl who said some dumb shit. Something about you being a sloppy slut for your untucked shirt and short skirt. It didn’t really matter. The words didn’t really bother you. You just wanted to fight.

Needed to fight.

You had clamped your hand around her throat and dug your nails into her skin and refused to let go until security came and literally pried your fingers from her neck.

She had turned purple and was bleeding from multiple cuts.

You sat in the back, not looking at Jungkook when he came into the classroom. They always picked days when he wasn’t doing club activities like soccer or taekwondo.

Ah, no, that was a lie.

You always picked days to cause the most trouble when Jungkook didn’t have club activities.

Neither of you said anything. He sat in the front of the room and opened his textbook to work on something. Homework, probably. That’s what he always did. He wasn’t good at it, but it didn’t really matter. He still tried to be at least mildly diligent about it for the sake of education.

You had a stack of remedial work and you didn’t touch it.

You always did homework at home to occupy yourself. That seemed to be the one thing that stopped your parents from… doing the things they did. When the night was bad, you would get slapped or pinched, but that wasn’t the same as the thrown dishes, lashes with the rod, or being ordered to do things in unreasonable timeframes to receive some creative, twisted punishment.

You skipped class to sleep.

You parents didn’t like it when you slept. They found it to be a sign of weakness and laziness.

You did so much remedial work that you were actually knowledgeable at the subjects from doing all the deep diving and expansion on difficult topics. You were also good at taking tests. You felt no pressure during exams. Exams were much easier than crawling on your knees and pulling up your shirt to get belted.

Good grades were the only reason you weren’t suspended or expelled yet.

You stared at your desk.

“I’m… sorry.”

Your eyes shifted upward. Your head didn’t move. Jungkook had turned his body to you, chewing on his lower lip, brown eyes shifting under his dark hair.

“About…”

“Slobbering all over my tits and running away?” you replied coldly.

His ears turned red; expression clouded with shame. It was ugly. It made his handsome features ugly and you didn’t like that. You raised your head, cocking an eyebrow. You leaned back in your chair, lifting it and balancing on the two back legs.

“I don’t give a shit,” you scoffed. You saw him stiffen at your vulgar language. “Why should I give a fuck? You’re just like the rest of them, golden boy. You think I’m a dirty slut and a good-for-nothing waste of space. You’re probably happy that I’m so easy and fuckin’ ecstatic that you got to touch a girl.”

You weren’t being fair. You were being mean, destructive, hurtful.

That how it was then.

You saw Jungkook swallow and shake his head.

“I don’t think that.”

You snorted. “Sure. That’s why you’re sitting that far away from me.”

His eyes flickered to you, narrowing a little. You spread your legs and put your hands behind your head, leaning back, creaking and scarping the chair against the floor. Your lip hurt. The security guard had slipped while trying to untangle you and elbowed your snarling mouth, causing you to bite your own lip and slice it open. He hadn’t apologized and you hadn’t asked for one.

You held his gaze.

Jungkook looked away.

You slammed the chair down onto the floor.

He jumped, startled at the loud sound.

You snatched the pile of papers in front of you and shoved them into your backpack, zipping it forcefully and standing up, school skirt swishing as you kicked the chair aside and strode powerfully to the classroom door, no longer looking at him. Veins on fire, dying on the inside for no reason at all, sick of this, sick of everyone, but especially sick of Jeon Jungkook, so sick you might throw up if you stayed.

“Hey–”

You snapped your head back, scowling over your shoulder.

“Fuck off, Jungkook. You could care less if I lived or died,” you spat, wrenching the door open.

Then you walked out.

Or would have, if Jungkook hadn’t jumped over the desks and grabbed your arm, yanking you back and slamming the classroom door closed, shoving you against it. You snarled like a wounded animal, lifting your arm to push him back, but he put his whole weight on your body, sandwiching you between the door and himself, making you gasp, trapped between dead timber and muscular hardness.

Now his face was in your face, breathing hard, dark brown orbs shaking, the mole underneath his lower lip trembling at the suddenness of his own action.

“I care,” he panted, staring into your eyes.

You narrowed them, seething.

“I care a lot.”

And he tilted his head and kissed you.

Pain shot up your lip, and you flinched with an injured hiss, causing Jungkook to back up, realizing his mistake, clutching your shoulders.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, that was stupid, I–”

You grabbed his hips and rammed them into yours, grinding into his crotch, sucking in a breath through your teeth, his hot gasp drifting over your open mouth, shuddering at the closeness, becoming instantly hard in his pants. The tip of your tongue danced between your teeth, touching the edge of your upper lip before sliding back in, smirking as you pressed against him.

Your backpack fell to the floor.

“I want to touch you all over,” you whispered into his quivering lips. “Want to feel your skin on mine.”

He was terrified.

“Someone… someone is going to see…”

“I can take you somewhere. You trust me?”

Jungkook bit his lip, but he stepped closer to you, shuddering, his hands sliding down your shoulders, drunk on something he didn’t understand, never having encountered such intense, sensual, raw lust. Youth and impulsivity mixed together.

Both him... and you.

His eyes darted back to yours, searching for lies.

“Yeah…”

-

time left: 11:11

Your hands cradled your breasts, tweaking your nipples, legs spread, head touching the lip of the two-meter-tall martini glass.

The music ended.

The lights turned off.

The curtains closed.

Fuck, the water was cold.

-

time left: --:--

“The Literature Club always meets in that coffee shop down the block. More vibey, they like to say. They never use their club room.”

Hands fumbling, nearly ripping off your buttons, despite to touch, trying to stay silent. You had more grace though. You found it came naturally to you, sliding your hand up his chest, undoing the buttons one by one, making Jungkook pause and gasp, savoring your touch. You kissed the exposed skin, his soft whimper, don’t hurt yourself, please, and you humming soothingly, pushing his shirt out of the way. He had a warm scent to his skin, light and clean.

Too young to own expensive cologne.

He tried to reach for your shirt again, but you stopped his hand, murmuring quietly, looking at him through your lashes.

“Let me do it.”

One by one, his eyes glued to your movements, entranced. Not the best, definitely a little awkward, but the sentiment was there, and Jungkook didn’t know any better, sitting on the edge of the table in the middle of the abandoned club room.

You lowered your shoulders and your dress shirt and blazer fell onto the floor.

“It’s dirty,” he gasped, breath hitching as you pressed your body to him.

“Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you,” you purred, tracing his jaw gently, stroking his skin. Something you saw in porn but it was having its desired effect, Jungkook swallowing hard, rolling his erection into your skirt.

“Sorry I can’t kiss you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your eyes and his, lost in sweet dreams.

“I want to kiss you.”

You leaned forward, forehead to forehead.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” you said to his lips.

It was different, touching him. You made note of his sounds, his voice, the way he said your name, his shaking hands, the delicateness he used to remove your bra and place it on the table. He way his lips feathered over your skin, gentle at first, learned from last time, the way he fixated on your nipples, fascinated by them and the sounds you made when he touched them, watching your face as he licked them, hotly whispering to your shivering skin.

“They’re so big… And they taste good…”

You hadn’t asked, but he was telling you anyway. Or maybe rationalizing with himself.

“And they’re soft…”

His index fingers on your nipples, pushing them around, squeezing your breasts with the rest of his hand, gasping with you, mesmerized by the way you squirmed between his legs.

You unzipped his pants and he unzipped your skirt and everything was falling to the floor.

Touching everything, raising one of your legs so he could run his fingers from your thigh to shin, warm exhale against your neck, exploring.

“Your skin is so soft and smooth,” he breathed, his other arm around your waist, holding you to his chest.

“I guess…” you mumbled, suddenly uncertain in light of his praise.

The sun was setting, casting your bodies in orange glow.

“You’re really pretty.”

You glanced at him with your busted lip and raised an eyebrow. He noticed your inquiring expression and nodded, unclear whether he was assuring you or himself. He leaned in, lashes lowering, kissing the side of your lips gently.

“You are,” he sighed against your cheek.

You took his hand and shoved it into your panties.

-

time left 10:20

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Dried off now, hair and makeup redone, still wearing the black diamond choker. The show costume was now cleaned off and set aside, locked back into your luggage and escorted back to your room by one of your bodyguards.

Now you wore a slinky black dress with a low V-neck and boned bodice. The hem skimmed the floor. It had a high side slit, revealing your legs and your sleek black pumps with red soles that really were too impractical for walking, but that was the nature of glamor.

You stepped out and your other bodyguard met you, escorting you to your table.

Back to the party, but this time as a guest.

-

time left: --:--

You weren’t stupid enough to even think about losing your virginity in some abandoned club room with the class representative. You were horny, not an idiot.

Jungkook would have, but that was because he was horny and seduced.

You weren’t, however, above climbing onto the table and rubbing your clit as Jungkook kneeled over you and jacked off while watching.

“Oh, f-fuck…”

He was embarrassed, but again, too horny and seduced to care at the current moment.

You placed your left hand on his tense thigh and licked the edge of your upper lip, heart racing, skin singing, pleasure shooting up from your core, knowing what to do because you discovered self-pleasure at a very young age. It seemed wrong.

So, you explored it.

You could tell, however, that Jungkook was not as practiced. He was wincing and his knuckles were white. Nervousness? Or inexperience?

“Wait...”

You tapped his hand.

“Let me try.”

Not that you’ve ever jacked off a dick, but your right hand was wet from your own juices, so you closed your hand around his length, surprised at the warmth. Your fingertips were slick, starting off barely grazing him, ghosting over the head.

“A-a-ah…”

Your name fell from his lips in a strangely erotic, silvery moan.

It made your blood hot and your core throb.

“Shh,” you murmured quietly, rubbing his thigh. It was strong and muscular under your palm. “Cover your mouth.”

Jeon Jungkook looked very sexy with his bangs all over his forehead and his lean torso trembling, slowly placing his right hand over his lips with a soft whimper. Not that you had seen many naked bodies in real life, but you had seen enough porn and he looked much more attractive than those guys.

You stroked him slowly, slicking your pussy juices over his length.

He groaned behind his hand, thrusting his hips into yours.

“Faster?” you whispered.

He nodded quickly and you obeyed.

“Harder?”

Nod, nod, nod. Your grip tightened.

Surreal, jacking off the class representative above your mostly naked body, still wearing your fucking shoes because it didn’t make much sense to take them off.

“Do you want to cum on my tits?” you asked, the sudden idea popping in your head.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at your suggestion. His cock twitched in your hand. You gradually sped up, building the intensity as you waited for his answer. He peeled off a few fingers and shuddered, barely able to croak out his words.

“I… c-couldn’t… do that to you…” he moaned, pitch hiking with pleasure.

“Cover your mouth,” you hissed.

He clamped his palm onto his mouth and panted, nostrils flaring, eyes glazing over, legs shaking.

“Sure you can, Jungkook,” you continued sweetly, as if you hadn’t just scolded him. “You want to, don’t you?”

His eyes seemed panicked. He didn’t know whether he wanted to or not. Had he never thought about it? Or did he think the act was too dirty to do, an act that was purely reserved for porn stars?

“Look at me.”

He did. Jungkook looked down at you, whole torso trembling, pupils blown out.

You gazed back at him, lowering your voice, smooth, silky, gentle.

“You want to cum on my tits, Jungkook?”

The orange sunset lit up his face and his eyes, reflecting the lust and trust in them.

He nodded.

You slid down a little, tiptoes touching the floor, one hand on his thigh, rubbing the tenseness out as you fixed your other arm, pumping him faster, harder, following the sounds of his voice and the shivering of his skin. Later in life, you would look back on that moment and realize you didn’t have good rhythm, and your arm had been burning, causing your grip to weaken.

It didn’t really matter though, because suggesting that Jungkook could orgasm on your tits took him literal seconds to explode all over you.

“Oh, fuck–”

He choked, pitching forward, smashing the head of his cock into your right nipple and making you wince, spilling hot streams of sticky white cum all over your breast, your hand pushing it to the side, gasping at the scent, feeling his stiff length twitch and jerk in your cleavage, dribbling out more all over your skin. He lost strength in his legs, sliding down and groaning loudly, rubbing the tip in his own slick cum, smearing it everywhere.

“Shhh, damnnit!”

You clapped your left hand over his moaning mouth, half-crushed by his weight, his balls touching your cum-covered skin and sending Jungkook into another fit of wanton whines, your fingers tightly gripping his cheeks to try and get him to shut the fuck up.

You lifted your right hand, seeing his release glistening off it.

You licked your palm.

A little bitter, somewhat salty, very strong and masculine.

You liked it.

-

time left: 10:00

“You ready to meet her?”

“What…? N-No.”

Kim Taehyung chuckled, grabbing Jeon Jungkook’s arm, dragging him along.

“Come on.”

The thing was…

Jungkook was pretty sure he knew this woman.

He wasn’t sure how or why, but he just did. He knew her somehow. It wasn’t the same body. This one was fuller, more womanly, long legs and sophistication. It couldn’t be, he thought. He was being dragged to the table with the lone woman and the two men in dark suits and sunglasses standing behind her, her chin resting on her palm, tongue flickering out between red lips.

This face.

Not a teenager anymore.

Elegant and stylish with a hint of mischief.

It can’t be.

Her tongue touched the edge of your upper lip and slid back in, slowly.

Taehyung forced him into the chair in front of her.

“Good evening. You’re the star of the party, aren’t you?” she purred.

Smooth, silky, gentle.

“The golden boy, one might say.”

Her name left his lips before he could stop it, shock and awe.

It wasn’t the name she used on stage. It was her real name emitted from his lips, the same name he uttered that day in the abandoned literature club room, struggling with the tiny pack of leftover tissues he kept in his schoolbag to wipe off her chest, stuttering, apologizing, saying he didn’t know how to reciprocate, and her hand gripping his shoulder, telling him to shut up and worry about it later because they had to get the fuck out of here since it was dark already.

And now.

She smiled at him.

“Hello, Jungkook.”

-

time left: --:--

They snuck around and it was euphoria.

Even now, Jungkook didn't know why he did it. It seemed dangerous and ill-advised. She was the class delinquent, after all. She knew all the empty classrooms no one ever used, the side closets, the forgotten halls. She even knew the usual paths the janitors and security guards used and the time they spent in those areas of the school. They would hide behind corners and dash past, holding their breath, light steps, leaping from shadow to shadow, bodies close, breath mixing.

They didn't even talk during school hours.

He saw her sometimes, in the hallways.

Untucked shirt and skirt too short, not looking at anyone, wandering about.

He never noticed before, but everyone avoided being in her path.

On the days after school when he didn't have club activities, he would find himself standing in front of the abandoned literature club door and opening it. She would be laying down in the table, legs dangling over the edge, staring out the window. She would sit up and they'd run around.

And she would touch him.

And he would touch her.

"Stop that, I'm not a stress ball."

"Ah, slow down."

"Jungkook..."

It was the weirdest feeling, touching someone like that.

Thinking about now, he realized how patient she was with him. Occasionally, he'd be too overzealous and discomfort flashed in her eyes, but she didn't snap at him outright, didn't put him down when she could have. She knew all the words to do so. But she didn't. She just sighed and put up with it. She didn't fight anymore, because she was spending all her time with him.

There were no more detentions, because after hours was now reserved for touching.

Jungkook would catch her smiling sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking. The first time was when he was putting his shirt back on and her face was reflected in the window.

She was gazing at his back, smiling.

He had never seen her smile like that, ever.

It always disappeared when she caught him looking at her face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Every time, only through reflection – mirrors, windows, a polished beaker in the science lab. His body pressed against the window, gasping at the coldness of the glass, worried that someone would see even though they were on the third floor of the back building and no one was going to come here, but he never said it because her reflection was smiling at him, her hands sliding up his body, and it made him speechless, seeing that smile. A smile those lips only made when she was with him.

It was his smile.

Her mouth on his neck, kisses and licks, setting his skin on fire, the kind of sensuality that only came with undeniable attraction.

It wasn't until after her that he realized how easy it had been to tell her things, small things, simple things. Things he didn't even realize he said until he felt her shiver a little in his arms, eyes shifting away from him, pink tinge to her cheeks.

"I like the way you sound."

"Your hands are beautiful."

"I like looking into your eyes."

Little by little, though.

She skipped class more and more.

He found bruises on her sometimes.

"I fell down the stairs. It's nothing."

He found welts.

"Stupid fight with some dumbass."

He found a criss-cross pattern of cuts on her leg.

"I tried to jump over a fence and fucked up."

Jungkook would look into her eyes and realize they were lies.

She would scoff. "I'm just a dumbass."

"No."

And he would kiss her and kiss her until she shoved him away and told him he was being weird.

One time, before he was about to leave, she asked him a question.

"What do you want to do, Jungkook?"

"Huh?"

She snickered. "As a job. You know, when you become an adult."

He frowned. "I don't know. I want to create things. I think it would be cool to tell stories. But I don't know if I have enough imagination for that... or know the words to say what I want..."

"Films, then."

"Huh?"

A small smirk. "Movies, dork. Make movies."

He blinked slowly. "O... oh."

When Jungkook looked into her eyes, he realized he didn't want to look away. "What about you?"

She smiled.

The only time she smiled in front of him.

And it was a lie.

He could tell, because it didn't reach her eyes, his favorite feature of her face.

"I might not make it there."

She turned and walked away from him.

He never saw her again.

She never came back to school. Nobody seemed to notice and, when they did, students and teachers alike seemed relieved. Jungkook had no one to talk to about his sudden emptiness, because she had been his accidental secret, his little taste of heaven turned hell because she never came back. The eventual rumors said that she had done something very bad and was sent away.

It was only then that Jungkook realized how happy he had been and how he never told her.

There was no reason to dwell on it. In retrospect, it didn't even last that long. He hadn't even fully lost his virginity to her. But time after time, relationship after relationship, smile after smile, he realized he missed the moments, the sneaking around, the touches, the look into the window and her genuine smile as she looked at his back.

He never found a smile like that one.

He accepted that he never would.

Settled for a fun girl who made him laugh and laughed at his awkward jokes and accepted that was enough, that he shouldn't chase ghosts, should try to find what ultimately was dangerous, ill-advised, and...

It wasn't love, right?

I want to kiss you all the time.

Jungkook didn't know why, but every time he remembered those words, he wanted to cry.

-

time left: 09:55

This smile, too, was fake.

“Hello, Jungkook.”

This isn’t real, right?

“Did you enjoy the show?” she, his ghost, asked, tilting her head, foxy smile on those lips, more of a smirk, teasing and sculptural. Those eyes were guarded, eyes that he thought he knew well, but there were walls between him and her now, walls he found himself banging his fists against, sudden panic and anxiousness at the moment, abruptly slamming his hands on table and scraping his chair back, throwing his body aside.

She looked at him.

For a single second, they were in high school again and they were in that abandoned literature club room, her on the table, waiting for him.

Jungkook ran.

He ran away from the table and left her there.

-

time left: 09:52

You watched him go.

-

time left: 08:27

You threw your glass into the hotel wall and screamed.

Screamed at the top of your lungs, screamed so loud it felt like your eardrums burst, screamed in agony and loss, the crystal shattering as it hit the wall, cracking and spilling the whiskey within all over the paint and onto the floor.

Then, silence.

You panted, staring at the mess, feeling the floor rock under you. You had a private room on the yacht, considering you were the entertainment. If they were paying for you, you made them pay for room and board too, and that was no exception with Kim Taehyung, the one who hired you. After all, there was no reason not to have some fun, right?

The door opened and your two bodyguards entered, saying your name gently.

“Is something wrong?”

His voice was deep, compassionate. He could tell from your stance that it wasn’t an outward influence, but an inward one. You were breathing hard, staring at the broken glass and the alcohol, mind racing, throat dry, despair threatening.

“I’m fine,” you replied shakily.

You were still dressed in your long gown, black, slinky, sexy, still wearing your black diamond choker, still wearing your Louboutins, the epitome of style and class.

Still.

You dropped to your knees and began to crawl to the glass, a child again.

“I’ll clean it up…”

Your voice was cracking.

In two steps, long legs crossed the room and a strong hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping you.

“Let Seokjin do it.”

The world was very small now, just you and the fallen glass, small and tiny and condensed, screaming, pain, memories flashing in your mind, your hands bleeding as you picked up the broken glass, surrounded by it on all sides, flinching as multiple glasses were thrown at the wall, showering you with shards and alcohol, the stink of blood and drink surrounding you. You barely registered the other bodyguard bending over with a towel, sweeping up the shards, because you were trapped in that night, that night after asking Jeon Jungkook what he wanted to do for a living, coming back to a house full of hate and rage, harshly questioning where you’ve been, slapping you across the face, threatening that they were going to withdraw you from the school because clearly you didn’t need it, a flood of blood in your mouth as your teeth sliced the inside of your cheek.

I might not make it there.

The hand was holding your shoulder, holding you back, but your mind was throwing you to the wolves.

You almost screamed again.

You did scream that night, clutching handfuls of glass, driving them into those accusing faces, driving them over and over into those faces that used you as their punching bag for years and years, slashing them up, tearing up skin and flesh, dying on the inside, because the only thing that kept you alive was Jeon Jungkook and those touches.

Did you mean them?

Even now, you didn’t know.

Did you just chase them because they felt real?

Even now, you didn’t know.

I want to kiss you all the time.

They sent you to correctional school, which was really just a nice way to say jail for children.

Your name, spoken softly, two hands on your shoulders now, pulling you away from the scene of Kim Seokjin cleaning up your mess, forcing you to look away and at him instead, sunglasses removed now, deep brown eyes bringing you back to the present.

“N… Namjoon…?”

He smiled at you. “Yeah, it’s me.”

You almost looked away again, but he held your cheeks, not letting you.

“What’s my full name?” His tone was stern, but grounded.

“K… Kim Namjoon.”

“And yours?”

Your voice didn’t hesitate this time.

He smiled. When Namjoon smiled, his dimples showed and his normally stone-face expression changed, becoming bright and serene. He lowered his hands, holding one out to you.

“Come on now. You don’t belong on the floor like this.”

You took his hand, swallowing hard. One leg, then the other. With each passing second, you fell back into your grace, breathing out, slow, controlled. Namjoon held your hand tightly, not letting go. They both had training in psychology, for threats.

Not all threats were outward threats.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t been like that in a while,” you exhaled evenly, shaking your head. “I didn’t think…”

“Seeing someone from your past can do that.”

Seokjin walked up to you, black-haired and sunglasses removed as well, brown eyes softening as he neared, wiping off his hands. He was only slightly shorter than Namjoon, but possibly more handsome, with even fuller lips and a symmetrical face. Namjoon had slightly lighter hair, cut shorter, and he was the stoic one, whereas Seokjin was the one who spoke when pleasantries were required.

“Ah…”

You frowned.

“It was just a high school fling. Nothing serious.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. Seokjin snorted.

“Right. Do you think we don’t have eyeballs? We do. Two of them, in fact,” Seokjin remarked coolly, rolling his. “Two on two people, making four, and all four eyeballs saw the way you and him looked at each other, not to mention your sudden interest in bachelor parties and working at a lower base rate for literally no reason whatsoever.”

You cleared your throat, eyes narrowing. “Taehyung’s a friend.”

“Taehyung’s an airhead you bonked because old men don’t have virility,” Namjoon pointed out.

“You should just hook up with Taehyung again instead of bachelor boy. He seemed like a damn virgin.”

Namjoon elbowed Seokjin in the ribs and the older man winced, giving him a ‘what-the-fuck-was-that-for’ look. Namjoon rolled his eyes, as if to say, ‘isn’t-it-fucking-obvious-bro’ and Seokjin’s expression remained confused.

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t… going to hook up with him.”

Now they both gave you the ‘stop-bullshitting’ face.

You sighed, about to run your fingers through your hair, but stopped when your realized it was still styled. You lowered your hand, not wanting to disturb it. “He’s getting married. I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“That’s a lie.”

Your eyes flickered up to Namjoon. He shrugged.

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize you don’t want him to get married. Maybe only because you want to wreck it. Maybe to make his life miserable. Maybe because you love him.”

“I don’t love him,” was your instant reply.

Seokjin seemed to have a lightbulb moment and plunked his fist in his palm. “Oooooooh.”

You narrowed your eyes. Namjoon sighed. “Okay, you don’t.”

A knock on the door.

-

time left: 07:59

Jeon Jungkook was throwing up in the bathroom.

His hands were flat on the wall and the toilet was swaying. Of course, it was. He was on a boat. He heaved again and hurled into the bowl, mind swimming.

“Dude, the fuck was your problem? Why did you run like that? I know she wasn’t mean to you. That’s not like her. You know, if you asked, you could have fucked her. She’s a burlesque dancer! It would have been amazing. One last hurrah before you commit single suicide. But, no, you fucking booked it like a cockroach when the lights turn on. Hah,” Kim Taehyung, his best man, had scolded him, shaking his head. “Eh, fine, whatever. Let’s just get wasted them. I can’t believe you would do that. She came here as a favor to me, dude. I wanted you to have a really good time tonight. She’s one of the coolest people I’ve ever met or fucked.”

“You fucked her?” Jungkook had sputtered.

Taehyung had raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, once. Was fuckin’ sick. She’s a banger.”

He had drunk so much. Why, he didn’t know. He flushed the toilet, coughing. His blazer was gone. He had no idea where it was. His sleeves were rolled up and his shirt half-unbuttoned. It was so damn hot. Where was his tie? No idea. His brain was a jumbled mess.

His chest hurt too.

Jungkook stumbled out of the stall, pushing his long black hair back and away from his face. It was a one-person bathroom, but the toilet was in a separate area. Probably for sanitary reasons. He clutched the sink, running the water, staring at his reflection.

His own face looked back at him, silver brow piercing gleaming in the harsh overhead light, his skin pale and lips shiny from vomiting.

Were there walls in his eyes too?

He cupped some water and rinsed out his mouth, spitting it out. Ugh, the taste was disgusting. He kept doing it, splashing his face, trying to clear his head. He didn’t really remember what he did or what happened. It was all a blur. It was very late now, but the party was still going. After the burlesque show, there were musical acts, and, at the moment, a DJ was tearing it up.

He should be out there.

Jungkook knew this and yet the thought of going back out there was making him sick again.

He looked back to the mirror, his face dripping water. He wasn’t a teenager anymore either. He was older now, cheek fat gone, turned into an angled jaw. Dark circles under his eyes from long nights. His life after high school was university and filmmaking, spending all his spare time creating his films from the ground up, from casting to storyboarding to finding film locations to the actual shooting and editing and production. As he got better at it, more people became involved and he had help, attending film festivals and showcasing his work despite his young age. Met lots of cool people.

Met his future wife, a reasonable union, but not a replacement for his broken heart.

His brows furrowed.

What kind of thought was that?

True, they both came to an agreement that it made sense to get married. They liked each other enough, everyone said they looked nice together, and there wasn’t any reason not to, right? And starting a family would be good for her career too. She could transition to that kind of lifestyle content after a couple years of marriage. They would figure that out when the time came, buy a nice place to live, have maybe one or two children, housewife and working husband.

And she wasn’t going to come back to him anyway.

Except she did.

Jungkook breathed out.

“What are you doing?” he said to his reflection, but his reflection only repeated the question back to him.

The class delinquent and the class representative.

“That was a long time ago,” he said to himself. “Those kinds of things don’t matter anymore.”

In his mind, her smile appeared in the mirror, because she only smiled at him when she thought he didn’t see. His smile. The smile she reserved for him. The smile when she looked at his back, the smile when her hands traced his torso, her breath on his skin, murmuring his name, wonderment and desire, putting up with his clumsiness and overzealous touch, things he continued to do after her with other people, and yet it never felt…

“It never felt the same,” he whispered.

His fingertips were touching the mirror, the place where his mind had conjured her smile.

“I thought it was only because you were my first.”

He thought of the woman on stage hours before, that beautiful face shrouded by ostrich feathers and painted with makeup, immaculate body lines and sensual movement, and it was like no time had passed at all, because she had always been like that, naturally sensual and erotic, teasing and sculptural. Untucked shirt and short skirt or crystal undergarments, it didn’t matter.

“You were always like that, weren’t you?”

She wasn’t there.

His fingertips lowered from the mirror. His black hair was damp from pushing it away from his face with wet hands. Lots of people told him he was good-looking. Handsome. Attractive. But he couldn’t move like that, like how she did on stage. He was better behind the camera. That was where he had always been. The director, the class representative.

And now, she, the class delinquent, was the main stage, all cameras and eyes on her.

He shook his head.

“You’re better off now. Look at you. Wearing beautiful clothes and followed by bodyguards. I bet you have a really nice guy waiting for you at home, wherever that is for you.”

He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t conjure it in his mind’s eye anymore. He wouldn’t be able to see it anyway, mostly because his vision was suddenly blurry.

“I hope you’re happy, because a long time ago, you made me really happy.”

He wiped his eyes, smiling at his reflection. It didn’t reach his eyes, because his eyes were full of tears.

His smile was a lie.

“I should have told you that I love you, but I didn’t know. I know now.”

A knock on the door.

-

time left 07:22

“I’m so sorry he’s a dork, I don’t know what got into him, I swear you’re not ugly, you’re super sexy, like, impossibly sexy, god, he’s such a fucking idiot, I should have convinced him to whip his dick out or somethin’, I thought he’d get the hint, you know, I bet he’s good in bed, have you seen him, he’s real fit, works out a ton, a muscle pig, haha, yeah…”

“Taehyung, how did you get so drunk?”

You sighed as you hurried after Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon who were both carrying Kim Taehyung, one arm on each of their broad shoulders, the brown-haired man babbling the entire time. He showed up at your door, maybe by chance, maybe by knocking on every single room until he got to yours, who knew, but he had clearly been looking for you, bursting in when he saw you, pushing past Seokjin, nearly making you trip on your Louboutins, spouting nonsense about Jeon Jungkook, apologizing profusely for his friend, not listening to you saying that it was perfectly fine.

The three of your concluded it would be best to bring Taehyung back to his friend, but Taehyung would not leave without you, saying he didn’t want to be left with the ‘big-scary-dudes-with-massive-shoulders’. Namjoon and Seokjin had stared at each other, pointing to themselves sin disbelief, sharing a ‘we’re-scary?’ expression. You had given up.

“Sure, fine, I’ll come, I was meaning to go back to the bar anyway. I don’t have to interact with him. Soekjin can do it.”

“Ah, of course. I got this!”

You were on your way back to the grand hall, when Taehyung had a declaration.

“I gotta hurl.”

Then it was a mad scramble to find a restroom, hurriedly banging on the doors. There was many single gender-neutral restrooms everywhere on the yacht, but all seemed occupied. Taehyung was rapidly turning an unpleasant shade of green, until one opened.

“Oh, hey, Jungkook. I’m gonna vomit.”

“Sorry, if you could–”

The tall man in black was shoved aside, and all three – Seokjin, Namjoon, and Taehyung – crammed themselves into the restroom, wrenching open the door to the toilet and then there was a loud retching sound.

You winced, recoiling a little. “Oh, dear.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Guess he was trying to enjoy his night a little too much,” you chuckled, amused as you watched Seokjin rub Taehyung’s back soothingly while jerking his head back, looking incredibly perturbed. Seokjin didn’t like gross things. He was a bit of a prince like that.

“I guess.”

It suddenly occurred to you that the voice beside you was Jeon Jungkook.

He was standing right next to you.

You turned your head.

Time seemed to stop.

He almost seemed to the same, but different. He had long, black hair that was currently swept back, the sides buzzed short and ears adorned with earrings. An eyebrow piercing. Chiseled jaw and high cheekbones like a marble statue, with dark brows and shapely lips. Muscular chest, broad shoulders, slim waist, long legs. A right sleeve of ink-black tattoos, going all the way down to his hand. You could tell because his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up.

Who was the delinquent now?

Your eyes found his.

Those eyes were still the same, staring at you, entranced with your gaze.

Still the class representative everyone picked because of his good looks.

Even you voted for him, although you didn’t really care who won. You only picked him because he seemed the least qualified and you thought it would be funny if he won, because he wasn’t even trying to get the position.

Taehyung groaned and declared he was never drinking again.

“I don’t know you, but I don’t believe you,” Seokjin scoffed.

“I’m inclined to believe this isn’t your normal behavior, so don’t be too hard on yourself,” Namjoon chuckled.

Taehyung heaved again.

You noticed Jungkook’s complexion had that paleness to him too. His lips and hair were glistening with water. A droplet collected on his chin and fell to the floor.

“Two peas in a pod, huh?” you said with a smirk. “Seems like you two have the same drinking habits.”

His ears turned red, but he didn’t look away, electing instead to raise his hands and cover his ears, pretending to tuck spare strands back. “A-ah… well… I’m much better now…”

You nodded, bouncing an eyebrow. “Back to the party you go. Only to attend another one with your beloved. Maybe you both will end up in the same bathroom. Wouldn’t that be fun?” you added with a dry chuckle.

It died out quickly, for something seemed to cloud Jungkook’s eyes at your words.

“Your performance was breathtaking,” he said, changing the subject.

You bowed. “Thank you.” You lifted your head. “It was, after all, for you. I am pleased to hear you enjoyed it.”

His hands lowered. He still didn’t look away from you, ears tinted pink.

“Your movements are unreal.”

He always had beautiful eyes, even back then.

“But they always were. Now and back then.”

You were different people now though. He had someone else. You were too busy being booked to have someone else. You didn’t want someone else. After graduating correctional school, which basically meant being released from jail, you had run away before your parents could pick you up, hitchhiking until you met an older woman. She was a traveling woman, an independent one. A dancer. She stuck with you with her words and her brashness, not letting you run off on your own any longer.

Don’t be stupid. I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to teach you. You can have any kind of life you want. You can live any way you want. But it’s no good to think that everyone is out to get you, you silly bean. You have to find some dorks to trust and have your back with things get shit. You have to have a job to sustain yourself so you can be financially secure. What do you have to lose? Why not try this?

She was a strange woman, but a wise one. One that was retiring soon and wanted a protégé to teach, for fun, for picking up her clients, it didn’t matter. She gave you a chance when you didn’t have one.

What if you live like this?

You thought, fuck it. Why not?

Wasn’t like you were going to see Jeon Jungkook again anyway.

Except he was right here.

You chuckled. “It takes a lot of practice. I’ve spent many hours tripping on my own feet, believe me.”

The side of his lips quirked upward. “I’m sure you look graceful even when you trip. You were pretty even when you were beating up upperclassmen and sulking in detention with a busted lip.”

You scoffed, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked back to him.

There was sharpness in your chest as you realized there was pinkness to the whites of his eyes and sadness in his voice. It was like you were back in the classroom for a moment and he was meters away from you, saying I’m sorry, but this time you were adults and he was right next to you and you didn’t know the reason why he was sorry, because there was nothing to be sorry for.

You frowned, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

“We’re going to bring him back to his room.”

You jerked your head to Namjoon, who was carrying a now extremely unsteady Taehyung. Seokjin was nowhere to be seen. Namjoon spoke curtly, stone-faced and serious.

“Hyung went to ask for his exact room number. In the meantime, Taehyung pointed us in the general direction while he was rinsing out his mouth. It would be hazardous to leave him alone. I will assist him and rendezvous with hyung midway.”

You blinked at him. Namjoon tended to speak this way around strangers when he was putting his professional mode on. He looked from you to Jungkook, eyes narrowing, looking down at him. With his short hair and stern gaze, he was intimidating, even while holding a woozy Taehyung with a lolling head.

“I expect you to escort her back to her room safely.”

And he turned and marched off, dragging Taehyung along with him.

“Hey, you like bees? I like bees. They help flowers…”

“That they do. They’re vital for all ecosystems by aiding pollination.”

“Bees are fuckin’ lit, dude…”

You watched them go, wincing. Maybe this was better. The bodyguards were for your safety, but it wasn’t like you didn’t know how to disarm someone with your Louboutins. Also, you didn’t really want to wander around the yacht listening to Taehyung ramble about bees.

Now, you were alone with Jungkook.

You looked at him over your shoulder, the side of your lips curving upwards.

“I’ll be fine on my own. It’s only a short walk. Good night.”

You began to walk away from him, and, in turn, the classroom from back then, away from his I’m sorry, away from those eyes, away from his care, because Jeon Jungkook did not care about you. There was no reason to care about you. Those events happened a long time ago. You were different people now, grown up, living separate lives.

Changed.

No longer class representative and class delinquent.

He was about to have a wife and you were swimming with too much money you had no idea what to do with, busy planning ideas for your next performance and organizing venues for a possible tour. This was just a favor to Kim Taehyung, nothing more. It was fine to leave it like this.

It was foolish to think anything would be same.

It was time to move on.

-

part ii

--

masterpost

[jellytae]

Power Trip

You and Jungkook make a bet to see who can last the longest in bed. 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Genre: established relationship, smut, fluff

Warnings: explicit smut, oral (f receiving), spit, swearing, fingering, Jungkook

A/N: If I ever tell you I don’t have a bias wrecker, call me a liar. Also this one is for @bulletproofbirdy​, I hope Jungkook can lift your spirits. I love you so much! also, this unedited cause im the worst :D This can be read in the same universe as my fic Press Start btw! 

He smirks, “You really wanna go there?”

You shrug, “I’m just saying- I know I can last longer than you can, that’s all.”

At this, his brows raise as a short and unimpressed laugh leaves his lips, “What led you to that conclusion?”

From the opposite end of the couch, you feel him staring at you. His competitive nature is simple minded and easily baited into situations where it’s able to prove itself; Jungkook simply cannot resist a challenge.

“I mean-” You bite your lip, “You are usually begging me to cum at some point…”

His smirk only broadens, “Oh? And you think I do that for my benefit?”

Oh.  

Keep reading

[jellytae]

its been so hard to find fics i like these days but holy shit was this good

angel in the marble

after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.

♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader

♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 8k

♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.

1529, Rome

“How much for that one?”

“No, that one’s sold already.”

It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.

“To whom?”

“Your friend Taehyung.”

“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”

The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.

“Three ducats.”

“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”

You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.

Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.

“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”

“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”

As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.

No, no, no…

The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.

Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.

That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–

Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”

“And that exempts her of crime?”

“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.

“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.

“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”

“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”

It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”

“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.

“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”

“Only from cunts.”

His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”

You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?

At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”

“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”

“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”

“So?”

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”

“I would rather have a hand cut off.”

“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…”

“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”

Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.

But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?

“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”

Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.

It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…

Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.

Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?

“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”

“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.

“You missed a wrinkle there.”

Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”

“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.

One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.

Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.

“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”

A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…

You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.

“Yes, master.”

“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”

Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?

You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…

“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”

“You’d do that?” For me?

Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”

That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.

Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.

“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.

He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”

“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”

Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.

Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”

“It truly is!”

As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.

“Good night, maes–”

“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”

“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”

“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”

“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”

Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”

“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.

“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”

What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.

In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.

“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.

You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”

Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.

“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.

A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.

“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”

“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”

The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.

“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”

Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?

“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”

“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”

“Do I not?”

“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”

You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.

Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”

Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”

Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.

A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.

It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.

Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.

That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”

With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.

Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.

Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.

Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.

“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!

Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.

“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”

She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”

“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.

The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.

Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.

Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”

“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.

“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”

Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”

“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.

Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–

“What took you so long?”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.

“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.

“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”

“Yes, master.”

You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.

Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.

Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…

Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.

“I’m sorry you got hurt…”

Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”

“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”

“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.

“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“Looks like he taught one to you.”

“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”

Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?

Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.

Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.

Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.

The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.

The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”

A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.

“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”

Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”

Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”

"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.

“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.

The incident happened once inside the Vatican.

Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?

At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.

“Do I have to go in?”

“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”

“Damn you…” you muttered.

“What did you just say to me?”

“After you, master.”

Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.

The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.

“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…

With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”

“None of your business, Your Holiness.”

The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”

You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.

By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”

“So?”

Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”

“Well, nothing happened!”

“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”

“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”

Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”

Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.

“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.

So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.

“Let’s… Let us just go home.”

Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.

After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.

Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.

“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”

He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”

“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.

Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.

“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”

“N-No, of course not.”

“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?

“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”

Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.

“I’ll think about it. You may go.”

A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?

“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.

An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.

“You won’t agree to this, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”

“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”

Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?

Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.

Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.

“Will that be all, master?”

The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”

“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.

“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”

He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”

There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?

Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.

By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.

Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.

Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.

“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.

He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”

Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.

With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.

Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”

You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”

It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.

He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.

As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”

Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

[jellytae]

November Sun | jjk

☆summary: whenever he breaks, the november sun shines on him. and jungkook chases you across the sky - but you've gone some place he can't reach you now.

☆pairing: Jungkook x reader (I genuinely don't think the gender is ever mentioned? please let me know if it is so I can adjust this here), mentions-ish of Namjoon x reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, it deals with heavy themes)

☆genre: grief au/funeral au?, exes au, angst

☆warnings: angst, like. Just angst. OC is dead and Jungkook is grieving her. Curses words, very light mentions of sex, flashbacks of moments when jungkook broke. mentions of christianism (the funerals are held in a church), mentions of alcohol, jealousy. Namjoon is a broken man as well

☆word count: 3.7k

☆a/n: I started writing this tonight because I was sad and then just realized I won't have the strength to look back on it ever again so I'm posting it even tho it hasn't been beta-ed, and even tho the person that makes my moodboards is unavailable rn. Idc. It needed to be out of my system, and now it is.

☆a/n pt2: I know this piece is extremely heavy. If you ever need to speak, please reach out to me. My blog is a safe space for every single one of you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

                The church is a tall building. Grand, elegant in its simplicity, though it cuts against the blue sky up above in stark lines, shaped like a prison.

Jungkook thinks life has become a prison a while ago.

It’s a mystery, why your family chose this space for your funeral. You never believed, never practiced. Is it a betrayal to mark your passing in a space that feels so unlike you?

Jungkook thinks it is.

He sighs, chases the heaviness away the same way the clouds chase themselves in the sky up above. He doesn’t know how the sun is shining in the blue expanse of the sky. It’s November, yet the day is warm, the sun is blindingly glowing. It feels like a crime – how can the sun shine in a world deprived of your existence?

Jungkook doesn’t want to know.

Only knows that he’s watched from afar the people that gathered on the front steps. Chatting, heads hung low and shoulders bent forward. He heard sniffles, he heard laughs, and he just waited for everyone to go in to get closer.

Jungkook doesn’t know why he was invited. Why someone from a distant past figured he would need to be here, to share his grief with people that could understand.

Though Jungkook thinks no one can understand.

He remembers you, in all your glory. His first love, when he had been a stupid college kid who didn’t know what he wanted in life. You were two years older, and now... and now one day he’ll be older than you. Because you've stopped aging, you came and went like a moment in time, when he'll still be here for who fucking knows how long.

He chases the thought away with a long inhale, holds the air in knowing that it’s choking him up before he lets it out on a sigh.

You were beautiful. A star that walked the Earth, only to return to the night sky above far too soon. He had loved you dearly, in his own twisted way. Had tried to be what you sought, what you needed, until he had realized he was never going to be enough.

Would you still be alive today, if he had fought harder?

*****

                “I’m not doing this,” you said. “I’m so fucking done with your indecision, with your fear of commitment.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Please, you graduated and now you think you’re so high above me. Get down from the fucking horse, Y/n, it’s not going to bring us anywhere.”

He’d said the words hoping that they would hurt you. And they did: he saw you physically recoil as if he’d punched you. As if the words had been a physical blow, and not just letters of the alphabets shaped into words and sound, into arrows to pierce that beautiful soul of yours.

“Maybe I don’t want us to go somewhere anymore,” you replied after a quiet moment of breaking hearts.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” You sighed, slightly shaking your head as your eyes fell to the floor between you and him. “I know, but I mean it.”

“Please,” was all Jungkook thought to reply.

“You say please all the time,” you told him. “You beg me, and for what? We always circle back to fighting, to hurting each other.” You paused, and though you were avoiding his features he could see you blinking back tears. “Maybe we aren’t supposed to be together at all.”

“Don’t say that,” Jungkook warned. “Don’t you fucking say that. I love you. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I love you too, Jungkook,” you answered. “I’ve loved you since the first day I met you at that stupid party last year.”

Jungkook felt the tear rolling down his cheek, felt the gravity pulling on his heart until it was shattering on the ground.

“Then why stop now?” he asked. “Give me time, Y/n. I’ll graduate, and I’ll be able to move in with you, and to provide for you and give you everything that you need.”

You sighed heavily, finding courage to finally meet his gaze. At the stark finality shining behind your pupils, Jungkook’s knees weakened. His whole fucking body weakened, ready for the blow.

For the end that was coming for you and him like a car barreling down a dead-end street.

“But I’m tired of waiting,” you answered. “I don’t want to spend my life waiting around for someone.”

“I’m still in college, I just can’t move in with you right now…”

“I know, Jungkook. I know.”

He wanted to fight. Wanted to tell you to stay in his dorm tonight, and to never leave again. But he could tell that you were already gone.

So he steeled himself. Readied himself to let you go even though you were the blood in his veins.

“I’m holding you back, aren’t I?”

You wiped a tear on your cheek, blurring behind those in his gaze. “You are.”

He choked on a sob, hiding his eyes behind his hand as if that would stop the breaking. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassured him. “We just aren’t at the same place in life anymore.”

An empty silence surrounded you, so loud Jungkook could hear every beat of his heart in his ears, could feel the walls pressing in.

“I don’t want you to go,” he softly said.

“I know,” you murmured. “I…” You choked on a sob, and it took you a moment before you managed to continue. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed, a sound so devoid of joy he wondered if he’d ever feel happiness again. “Please don’t be. You’re allowed to want more.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Anger rose up on the horizon of Jungkook’s conscience, and he pushed it away. He refused to be angry at you, refused to put the blame on you when you made it clear that you wanted him to move in so long ago, and he disregarded it without even once thinking about it.

“I’ll find you again,” he promised, voice strained and heavy with emotion. “I’ll graduate and find you.”

You stepped closer to him, gently cupping his cheek. “Go find someone that loves you for what you are, Jungkook.”

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t want you to settle for someone that asks too much for you,” you explained, renewed silver lining your eyes. “Find someone that loves you for who you are, right now.”

“Fuck that,” he choked out, and he pulled you flush against his chest. “Fuck this nonsense. ”

“I’m so sorry,” you cried against him.

“Don’t be,” he reassured you, though he was crying too. “Don’t be. Give me a few years. I’ll have it all figured out in a few years.”

*****

                The priest at the front of the church is going on and on about something that Jungkook doesn’t care to listen to. It’s impersonal, nothing like you, like the vibrant girl he remembers. So he lets his memory guide him to you, where you’re awaiting him. Your lips on his, your hand running through his hair. Your own hair catching in the wind that time you’d gone hiking, and he’d believed being at the top of the mountain with you felt like he had won in life.

Or that time you’d driven on the coast, windows down, screaming the lyrics to a song he can’t listen to anymore. Now the song is haunted by ghosts of a past he never learned to let go, perhaps because for months after the breakup he’d kept the conviction that he’d find his way back to you. He’d believed it the same way he believed the sun would always rise in the morning. A simple truth of nature, that nothing could ever break.

Except a car accident, apparently. Because all it took was a car accident to wipe you off the surface of the Earth, to take your light and shove it into shadows, into darkness and a void so wide he knows he’ll never find you again.

But he’d believed he’d find his way back to you. Never let anyone in after you, for the months and years it took him to graduate because he always knew he’d find his way back to you. You were his silver lining, the finish line at the end of the race. On a November day, just as sunny as today, Jungkook reached that finish line.

He did find you again, only you never knew.

*****

                Jungkook had never felt so light before. Like he had grown wings, like he was soaring in the clouds up above. Though the sun was out, the weather was cold, wind running cold fingers through the lapels of his coat until he found himself shivering as he made his way to the flower store.

He’d get the biggest bouquet for you, and then he’d head to where he knew from a common friend that you lived now. It was Saturday, and he hoped to catch you unaware, to catch you in the middle of cleaning your apartment the same way that you cleaned it back when you were dating.

The image of you, with your hair pulled back in a high ponytail as you danced around instead of sweeping the floor shone in his mind, brighter than the star in the sky above.

He bought the flowers, heart beating fast in his chest. Because it was time. It was finally time to go home, to tell you that he did everything he said he would, that he changed and now had a job that could support what you both wanted. He wanted to ask you out, and in his dreams you had been answering yes every single time since he had decided to go see you.

His heart fluttered as he gently rested the flowers on his passenger seat, careful not to damage them. Memories floated to him, and a smile grew on his lips as he remembered you, screaming out the window that day you had driven along the coast. You had stopped to watch the sunset in the waves, and he’d kissed you stupid on his back seat until every single inch of your skin knew about his love.

He couldn’t wait to create new memories with you.

He drove carefully, enjoying the warmth of the sun now that he was safely hidden from the wind. You actually didn’t live too far from where he did now, and soon enough he parked his car near your building. He got out of the vehicle, almost running to the other side in his excitement to grab the bouquet on the passenger seat. When it was safely tucked in his hand, Jungkook shut the car door, locked it, and started walking to your building.

He didn’t even know which apartment was yours. He believed fate would guide him, and so he crossed the street to your building, trusting the universe for what was to come next.

He heard your laugh before he saw you. Love swelled in his chest, and he wondered if you were laughing because you’d seen him, because you’d known that he’d come back for you.

And then he saw you. The wind was ruffling your hair, which he assumed had prompted the laugh. Your eyes were closed, hands struggling to push the wild strands behind your ears.

You were more beautiful than he remembered. Shone brighter, with the same stuff that stars consisted of. He was struck for a moment, watching you with his bouquet hoping that you’d open your eyes and see him.

The world slowed down to a stop, and time halted, and Jungkook watched you, feeling at home for the first time in years.

The illusion fractured the instant someone else came into view, making him realize that you hadn’t been laughing at the wind. No, perhaps your laughter took root in the dimples gracing the man’s cheeks as he smiled at you, as he pecked your forehead before grabbing your hand.

Jungkook ducked behind a car, clutching the flower bouquet like a lifeline the moment that you turned towards him. Did you hear his heart breaking? Did you hear the mockery in the November sun rays – you’d broken up on a similar day, years ago.

Jungkook couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think around the shattering of his heart, around the blood turning to ice in his veins as he heard you speak to the man – Namjoon, he heard you call him.

He would have rather not known the name.

Still Jungkook drank in the sound of your voice, trying to shape it into the words he was so willing to hear you say today. It didn’t work, and soon enough your voice disappeared, leaving him in a deafening silence of wind and sun and the realization that after all, he had come back too late.

Perhaps he should have known that he'd be too late.

*****

                When Jungkook received the call last week, he’d sat outside in the silence until he thought his eardrums would start bleeding. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t breathed, hadn’t done anything other than to stare at the fading light of the sun.

He wonders, why is it that whenever he breaks, November sun is shining high above? As if the universe takes pleasure in his torment, in undoing him until he barely counts as a human being anymore.

He got pissed out drunk that night. Last time he had been as drunk was when he had found out you were dating someone new, that day he had come to find you.

And now he wonders, if he had approached you that day, would you still be dead today? Would life still have put you on that road with its drunk driver so that you could meet your end?

Or would you be laughing at some dumb comment he’d make, telling him that he’s stupid with eyes so full of love he wouldn’t be able to do anything else but agree with you?

It’s hard to tell. So, he doesn’t try to figure it out – he has an eternity ahead of himself to figure out how to live without you anyway.

Maybe in all his misfortune Jungkook actually had some luck. He’s learned to grieve you a while ago already, and perhaps grieving someone that still lives is harder than grieving someone that’s passed. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he knows anything. Just that, so far back in the past he should have said fuck it and move in with you. It was such a simple request, but he had been too young and dumb, and he’d forever live with the regrets of it.

If someone from your family notices his presence at the funeral, recognizes him from your shared past, they don’t say. Especially not as the end of the ceremony comes before he’s had a chance to really take in the picture of you, smiling, over there next to the urn with your ashes.

You’re ashes now. Everything that made you – your laugh, your smile, the way you carried yourself with that simple elegance – all of it is gone to be replaced with mere ashes.

He doubts they can hold the truth of your essence, but then again he doesn’t think anything can, or anything ever will again.

He blinks away the tears as they come, leaving the ceremony like a whisper in the wind. He doesn’t want to speak to your family, doesn’t want to see them coddling the man that you loved, that survived the accident when he should have been the one to go.

Jealousy and selfishness are ugly, Jungkook realizes. But it’s easier to hate the man that took you away from him, no matter how unknowingly he did it.

And Jungkook tried to hate you once. He tried hard, in the months after that fated November day, when you’d laughed to that man’s joke, smiled when he’d smiled that soft dimpled smile of his. He had tried, because hating you felt like it was the only way he wouldn’t hurt. But he still hurt – he still hurts.

All he’s been able to do in his life since you broke up is hurt, and he highly doubts he’ll ever feel differently again.

Perhaps he’ll grow numb. Perhaps he should have grown numb a while ago.

At least that’s what he’s telling himself days later, when he’s looking at the tombstone they picked out for you. The finality of your name and the dates, the ending, is unnerving. He wishes it was fake, wishes it was a joke, and that he didn’t spend most of his life loving someone that moved on to a new love in just a few years.

It’s been over a decade and he hasn’t moved on even a little bit.

He kicks the ground, mad at the leaves littering the ground where you’re buried, as if they’re sullying you. And as if laughing at him, sun rays pierce through the clouds up above, that dreaded November sun making an appearance when it should stay gone.

He allows himself to cry. To break down, to sit on the ground and curse everything and everyone that’s ever been between you and him. He curses his stupidity, curses the sun and the leaves and the etchings on the stone. He hates everything. Hates himself, hates you, hates the whole fucking universe for taking you away, for not giving him the chance to be with you.

That’s how Namjoon finds him. Jungkook’s tears have receded, and he’s just sitting there, an empty shell that once held love and laughter and your lips on his. He hears the scuffle of Namjoon’s steps, of his cane as he walks up the path.

The man’s features are grave when Jungkook can’t help but glance towards him, sees him ambling up the path with that cane, the only indication that he too was in that car accident. And Jungkook wonders if Namjoon knows about him. If Namjoon knows that he wasn’t the first man whose love for you was a bottomless ocean, one Jungkook has drowned in time and time again since you broke up.

Namjoon remains standing, and Jungkook remains sitting. Like there’s an understanding between them, and silence conveys more than words could. Jungkook doesn’t want to move, and Namjoon clearly doesn’t have anywhere to go.

Jungkook thinks the Earth has revolved around the sun at least once before Namjoon scrapes his throat.

“It’s hard to believe that she’s gone, isn’t it?” he speaks, deep voice carrying the weight of the universe.

Jungkook doesn’t deign reply as his eyes fill with tears, though he refuses to let them out right now.

Especially not in front of the man you loved after him.

“You’re Jungkook, aren’t you?”

The simple sentence makes Jungkook lose it. He hides his face in his hands, his whole soul bleeding out under the November sun.

“She told me about you,” Namjoon continues, and Jungkook is convinced he hears pain, tears and grief laced with Namjoon’s words.

What did you tell him, Jungkook wonders? Did you tell Namjoon that you should have waited for Jungkook, that you should have given him a chance to become what you needed?

“She loved you a lot,” Namjoon adds after a silence, and he chokes on a sob. “She never forgot about you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jungkook asks with that broken voice, raspy with disuse.

He hasn’t been able to speak since you died.

“You deserve to grieve. She loved and loved, and I wish it would have been enough for her to live…”

“Stop,” Jungkook begs. “Please.”

Namjoon falls silent, offering salvation to Jungkook, though Jungkook doesn’t know if he deserves it.

Would he have been able to offer salvation to someone in his position if the situation was reversed? He highly doubts it.

“It’s just…” he trails off when he finds words again. “You got fucking years with her. You got years of loving and-“ it breaks on a sob. “And you were fucking engaged.” Jungkook pulls at his hair. “You were engaged, and all I got was months. Not even a full year.”

“I’m sorry man,” Namjoon answers, voice so broken Jungkook wonders who’s suffering the most.

He doesn’t think it’s himself.

“Was she happy?” Jungkook eventually asks, once he can’t stand the silence hanging around. Once he can’t stand the etchings on the stone, the void in the universe that used to be filled with you.

“I made her as happy as I could,” Namjoon replies truthfully, his voice strained but not as pained anymore. As if he’s reached a conclusion, clarity filling his mind.

Not needing to hear more, Jungkook gets up, dusting himself off.

“Good talk,” he says, fighting against the next onslaught of tears, and then he’s storming off.

Storming away from you, from everything that you meant to him. And maybe the sun rays really are mocking him in that beautiful November sky, because Namjoon says, “I don’t think she ever truly was happy after you, though.”

Jungkook stops, convinced someone just stabbed him right in the heart. He doesn’t think the organ can beat anymore, doesn’t think he can live anymore. He just wants to be dust on the wind, to be forgotten, and to stop fucking feeling all the time.

“She was calling off the engagement,” Namjoon continues. “She…” Jungkook turns, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen such agony as the one that graces Namjoon’s features right now. “She said she shouldn’t get married to me when she still loved another.”

Clouds pass in front of the November sun, and Jungkook remembers the smile on your face whenever you’d catch his gaze. He remembers the way you’d lovingly cupped his cheek even when you were breaking up with him. He still feels the ghost of your fingers on his skin as he holds Namjoon’s broken gaze.

He holds Namjoon’s broken gaze, unable to offer the man salvation. It might make him a monster, might make him selfish and jealous and everything that he finds disgusting about humanity. But Jungkook doesn’t care.

Not when he realizes that perhaps, perhaps he’s the one that you’re waiting for on the other side of the veil, so that you can rest in the eternity of afterlife together.

And perhaps, perhaps there’s some sort of beauty in the thought.

☆☆☆☆☆

I am crying and in pain and I am sending everyone that read this whole thing lots of love and if you need to talk just hit me up bc grief is a bitch and we hate her and I just wish I could take everyone's grief away

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[jellytae]

a little different than what i usually post but no shade to OP i just respectfully disagree with them.

this type of discourse ALWAYS starts whenever bts/single member puts out an english track. and even tho everyone tries to justify or beat around the bush, the core “critic” always seems to be that they are making music in english.

i never see this discourse come up when they make music in korean even if they didn’t write/produce the song. i just get irked when armys wanna put bts in this bubble. whether it’s voluntary or not, i truly believe it boils down to not wanting asian people to expand beyond what they’re “supposed” to achieve.

even implying jungkook is “lazy”, not passionate enough or anything of the sort is borderline insane lol. “take a break and do nothing” doesn’t sit right with me because its simply not true. we’ve seen the countless amount of content he has put out even when he says “resting”. jungkook would be the last person on earth i would accused of being anything related to “lazy”.

bts is the catalyst for what kpop is today. they’re the reason american shows even have a “kpop” category. why kpop groups are now seen regularly on american/global tv. bts have already proven to be a powerhouse in korea, why is it that we should hold them back?

I don’t really know what to say. This has been my fear since Seven and now it’s actualized. Jungkook said he wants to be an artist who can switch between k-pop and pop, and so I want to support him in that if that’s his dream. But at the same time, I can’t help but be disappointed knowing we’ll be getting an all-English album in which he had no part of the writing/producing process. I was disappointed Taehyung also had no part in the writing/producing of his album, but at least it was still Korean songs and they basically scream “Taehyung” even if he didn’t work on them. I don’t care about Jungkook’s songs so far having been about sex, and I don’t care about the contents of the upcoming songs. I have no problem with that. In fact, I have even loved the songs we got so far (Seven much more than 3D, but I digress). And I will probably love his album if we’re being honest. But even if I love GOLDEN, I don’t think it will erase my disappointment regarding the situation. Because Jungkook is the same person who made Still With You, Your Eyes Tell, Film Out, My You, and worked on so many other phenomenal songs that are some of my favorites in the BTS discography. As someone who listens to a lot of other pop artists, I can’t say that someone writing and producing their own songs is a dealbreaker for me because it isn’t, but BTS and it’s members have always been praised and set-apart because they do make their own songs. And it’s something I personally have always loved about them. I don’t want to call him lazy, or say he’s had plenty of time off to work on his own songs because he’s been working non-stop since he was 13 and I love that he got to take a break and do nothing. But, it is definitely a punch to the gut to see that track list. BTS has always made music because it’s what they love to do. And even though they always top the charts, that’s never the reason they make their music. But this album, and the singles so far, were clearly made to top the charts. And if that’s Jungkook’s dream then I will always support it, but I can support him and still feel disappointed and maybe a little heartbroken, too.

[jellytae]

i cant even find the right words to express how her writing makes me feel

First of all - I love obs so fcking much 🥹 Your writing is truly just.. chefs kiss!!

But I would really like to see how they handled their first big argument/fight (if they had one ofc), after they started dating

our beloved summer; a drabble

You fucked up.

You know it. Jungkook knows it. Taehyung, Jimin and Hoseok know it.

You fucked up.

You were scared, and so naturally, that made you stupid.

Now here you stand, in front of his door, wondering whether you should knock or leave. Patch things up or make things worse. You don’t know if this is one of those times where you should let him cool off and everything will be okay again in the morning, or if it’ll blow up if you let him simmer for too long.

You’ve been dating for almost a year, and not once has your boyfriend looked so dejected.

Hurt.

Because of what you said, and in front of all your friends, no less. 

It’s not like you and Jungkook have never fought before, because god knows you have. But it’s different this time. What you said was clearly out of line. The words didn’t feel right even as they were sitting on the tip of your tongue, but they jumped out anyway.

The whole group was supposed to spend a cute night together at Taehyung and Jimin’s place, eating cheap pizza and drinking even cheaper liquor. For the most part, it was a nice evening, until Hoseok asked what everybody was doing for Christmas.

You were already chewing on your lip when Jungkook mentioned that he'd be going back to Busan to see his family, because you had a good feeling of what he was teeing up to. By the time he asked if you would come with him to spend the holidays there, your stomach was in knots.

In response, you attempted a joke. A royally disastrous joke.

Because that's what you do. You hide behind nonchalance when big feelings are involved. It’s so easy to fall back into bad habits.

"Are you sure you want to introduce your parents to a girl who might not even be here for that much longer?"

Thinking back, you don't even know what you wanted the punchline to be. You meant it as a dig at yourself, but it didn't quite land that way. The way the guys went completely still, told you that nobody found it funny.

Your friends all stared at you - a question mark etched onto all three faces - then at Jungkook to gauge his reaction.

He blinked, and the hopeful smile from seconds before faltered. "Why is that supposed to mean?”

"I'm just saying, who knows what'll happen.” You shrugged. “There's a very real possibility that I might not spend the next Christmas with you. Hell, we might even break up tomorro-..." you trailed off when you caught Taehyung's eye, who subtly shook his head for you to stop before you could dig an even deeper hole for yourself.

The silence that embraced the room was chilling. Nobody said a word after that, because it was obviously not Taehyung, Jimin, or Hoseok’s place to comment. You watched as your boyfriend’s face fell, as he made himself small, and when you tried to reach for his hand, he stood up. Your fingers grazed his shirt before he slipped away entirely.

“That’s not what I mea-”

“‘Kay.” The single word was directed at you even though Jungkook’s body was facing the guys. "Sorry, uhm..." he said, turning toward the door despite you calling out his name. "I think I'm just gonna head home early."

Then he left, without even looking at you.

You touch the textured surface of his door, still not sure what you should say if you do decide to knock. Jungkook has been nothing but patient with you all this time, and you’ve been nothing but a coward. What you said tonight... You might as well have flat out told him that you didn't believe in this relationship.

You move away from the door to pace around for the millionth time in the past hour, but you jump when the barrier cracks open, revealing a tired-looking Jungkook on the other side.

“Don’t just stand there anymore,” he says, already retreating back into his home without looking at you. “It’s cold.”

You follow him inside, and close the door quietly behind you. “How did you know I was out there?”

“I could hear you pacing,” he says. For a brief moment, you’re flushed with embarrassment for thinking that you were so stealthy when in fact, he was listening to you the entire time. “And the guys texted asking if you got here okay. Why didn’t you let Tae walk you? It’s late.”

I can take care of myself, you think, but you bite back your default response. Instead, you tell him, “Okay. I won’t do that again.”

“Next time, let them walk with you.”

When Jungkook goes to sit down on the couch, you do the same. But something unfamiliar is there - an invisible wall that is the space between his end of the couch and yours. You don’t dare cross it, not with the way he refuses to turn his head in your direction.

It feels a lot like being shut out, and there isn’t a single part of you that enjoys it. He’s never distant when it’s only the two of you.

Is this how he feels whenever he’s with you? Every time he says I love you and you swerve the sentiment with a much milder and non-committal response, does his heart sink? Even though you love him, and you kiss him like you mean it, does he still feel cold right down to his bones?

It’s not a question of if you love him, but a question of if you’ll say it.

“Why can’t you walk with me next time?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

”Are we fighting?” The question comes out with a chuckle in an attempt to brush off the tension, even though this is no laughing matter. 

“I don’t know.” He mutters, more deflated than you expected him to be. “What are we fighting about?”

"I'm sorry," you say, because you don't know how else to start, but you mean it. "I'm really sorry."

“Okay.”

You bite your lip, then fumble with your fingers in your lap, twitching with the urge to reach out and touch him. He’s right there but he’s not here. His head is somewhere else, somewhere far away from you. “I didn’t mean it like that. You of all people should know that.”

Jungkook lets you sit in silence for a short while. Two minutes stretch out like two hundred days, excruciatingly endless, and you’re just stuck in the middle of it with no way out. There’s a thought that pops up in the back of your mind, a thought that makes your stomach roll with anxiety.

Is this a countdown?

He finally sighs, the exhale of a deep breath that somehow makes him feel even heavier.

"I know. I do know that. I know you love me too even if you don’t say it in those exact words. But that’s what it sounded like tonight. Sometimes I feel like all you think about is leaving when all I think about is a future with you.”

It turns you inside out, that look on his face. His eyes twinkle sadly, and you feel like shit for being the reason why he looks so dejected.

“I don’t want to say that you’re breaking my heart, because that would mean admitting I love you enough to let you keep doing it.”

Then he breathes in, like he’s bracing himself.

“But I do.”

Even the silence between his words is poignant.

“And you are.”

You don’t know what to say. You’re not good at this.

You’re not sure how Jungkook interprets your stillness, your lack of a verbal response, but he sighs again, quieter this time. Just as you open your mouth - not to speak because you’re still hunting for the right words - he stands up.

Actually, you know what the right words are.

“You know what, we can talk about this in the morning. I’m tired. Let’s just… sleep on it. Take my bed. I’ll take the couch,” he says, then he seems to realize something, like he could read your mind. “But if you want to leave, I won’t force you to stay.”

It means so much more than just that. He knows you understand it.

A way out.

But all it does is make you panic.

When he moves past you, you catch his wrist. “No,” you tell him, “let’s talk about it now.” You don’t know what expression you’re wearing, but it dilutes his anger, softens his hurt.

He looks at you, resigned, but he sits back down. This time, he sits right next to you and that makes you feel better, just by a fraction.

It’s always Jungkook who holds a hand out for you, waiting and wanting but never pushing. When the world is cold and you close in on yourself little by little, he’s always there by your side. You don’t want to admit that you’ve started taking him for granted somewhere along the way, but maybe you have. You get used to hearing those three words but not saying them back.

Thinking that he’ll continue to show up and be here and you won’t have to commit to anything. Thinking that if you don’t seal your fate, then it won’t hurt if it ends.

When it ends.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. It makes you feel stupid that you're just echoing this for a third time. “I didn’t mean it like that. I want to spend Christmas with you and your parents.”

“You don’t have to do it just because you think I’m upset.”

“I want to spend Christmas with your family, I promise.”

It’s weak, and you hate how you’re all too aware of just how weak of a reassurance it is.

He pokes a tongue into his cheek, eyes still sad, features still gloomy. “It’s okay, you know,” he says. “It’s okay if you want to leave. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

How do you make him understand that you don’t want to leave? That leaving him couldn’t be the furthest thing from your mind?

This isn’t playful banter. This isn’t a silly argument where one of you is shooting daggers from your eyes because the other pissed you off over something stupid and trivial. This is real, and you can’t weasel your way out of this one with finger guns and empty bravado.

As terrifying as it is to tell him those three words, to solidify how you feel, it’s nothing compared to losing him. The mere thought makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to drop to your knees.

You’re frustrated, because they’re sitting right there on the tip of your tongue but they’re stubborn and you’re afraid.

Suddenly, you crawl into his lap like a child and cling to his warmth koala-style, with your face hidden in the crook of his neck. He’s hesitant at first, a tiny bit startled, but then his hands are on your waist, your hips, drawing soothing patterns into your skin over your clothes. Now it feels like you’re the one who needs to be comforted.

You hug him close to your body like you could die if he were to let you go.

You run the words over in your head three times, because once they’re out there, you can’t ever take them back. They’ll be his to keep, for as long as he wants them. Isn’t it scary to think that your heart could belong to someone else, forever?

But he loves you and he tells you just as much. And you love him too. The only difference is you’re a coward.

It’s always the scariest right before you take the leap, right?

His gentle fingers are still soothing you. It feels nice.

Okay, here goes nothing.

For someone who’s highly uninterested in drama, you sure are dramatic.

“I love you.”

The very second you say those words, Jungkook goes still, his hands stopping their ministrations like you’ve frozen him completely. The one thing that isn’t motionless is his heart, hammering against his ribcage which you can feel where your chests are practically pressed together.

You swallow hard, then pull back slowly to gauge his reaction. His eyes well up, and you could probably make fun of him for it if you yourself weren’t on the verge of tears too. Crybaby, that’s what you’d tell him.

“Please mean it,” he says.

“You know I wouldn’t say it unless I mean it, and I mean it. I love you. You know I do.”

He looks at you for a few seconds longer to see if this is real, or if you’re just trying to appease him. There’s no trace of the latter.

He kisses you then, his tears spilling over and now you’re both crying as he picks you up with your body still wrapped around his and carries you blindly to where his bedroom is, clumsily knocking against some furniture on the way. He’s still emotional - in a good way, of course - as he lays you on his bed, as he helps you take off your clothes, as he fucks you nice and slow, like you’re the only thing he worships. When you come undone, you look him in the eye but tonight is the first time that he unravels with your soft voice whispering to him what he’s always dreamed of. 

I love you. A third time. 

The more you say it, the more you love him, and the more you want to keep saying it.

No, the fall isn’t scary. Not when he’s there to catch you in the end. You don’t know how much time you’ve wasted trying to convince yourself otherwise.

Even when you both gravitate toward each other’s warmth under the covers, you don’t tell him goodnight. You tell him you love him.

“Can you say it again in the morning?” he asks.

You kiss him like it’s a promise you intend to keep, because it is. 

“I will.”

[jellytae]

everyday i wake up, look up at the sky and thank the heavens user dollfaceksj aka miss clover was brought into this world on that fateful day that inevitably lead to me finding this fic and reading it. i can’t thank god enough that in my 20 years of being on the planet, it just so happened to be on the same timeline as this story. god bless 🙏

lol but srsly this shit was good as fuck. if this was crack cocaine, catch me with white powder on my nose 24/7. it has ANGST. it has SMUT. it has FLUFF (albeit not as much as the other two but IDGAF). god the PASSION. the YEARNING. the HEARTACHE. its too good i tell you ! TOO GOOD

reminder | jjk (m)

⇝ pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

⇝ summary: Whenever he flies back into town, your doorbell is the first he rings. When he has to fly out again, your bed is the last he lies in. However, you’re not stupid. You know your ex-boyfriend, that also happens to be an up-and-coming professional boxer, Jeon Jungkook, doesn’t come to you only. Unfortunately, you have no right to be jealous, not when you’re the one that ended the relationship.

⇝ genre: angst ; smut ; bit of fluff ; exes with benefits

⇝ warnings: explicit sexual content, exes, second chance, angst, fuckboy!jk, possessiveness, jealousy, exes with benefits, boxer!jk, unprotected sex(STAY SAFE), creampie, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, oral sex (f. rec), handjob, spanking, toxicity (a lot if it), shower sex, heterosexuals (sorry), fluff if u squint, mutual pining, sooooo much pining, minors DNI

⇝ category: three-shot

⇝ wordcount: 8.6k

a/n: ck jungkook has given me brain rot and i just had to write something about it. sorry in advance.

— m.list & concept video

↓ part one ; part two →

Change is inevitable. Everything changes. Everyone changes. You love change, though. You don’t like clinging to things and you’re always up to try out new things. You’re the one in your friend group that’s always trying new items on a menu, always checking out random music, trying different things with your hair.

Maybe it’s because of the way you’ve grown up, always taught to move on and enjoy new things because life is short. No dwelling on the past, no asking yourself ‘why me?’, no fear of change in your life. That’s exactly how you’ve always been.

So what you don’t understand is how you allow yourself to be in this situation right now, a book you should’ve closed a long time ago.

With your face pressed into your wet sheets, back arched, bare ass in the air and lewd moans spilling from your lips as you get fucked into your mattress by the man you broke up with 2 years ago.

“Jungkook! Slow down, I’m gonna–”

You’re cut off by a harsh slap to your left asscheek, your teeth sinking into the bunched up sheets in front of your face as the stinging and warmth from the spank spreads through your skin. You yelp in pain yet pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets even tighter. You usually don’t orgasm from solely penetration but the overstimulation is causing you to physically feel every single one of your nerves electrifying in your nether regions.

“Cum, then. I’ll fuck you through as many orgasms as you want.” The pace of his merciless pounding never falters and it has you seeing every celestial body in the universe every time you blink. He grunts loudly as you start clenching around him, his hand reaching for your forearm and pulling it back to press it into your back as he continues to fuck you.

Your other hand reaches behind you, pressing flat into his lower abdomen to get him to slow down but he just swats your hand away. You attempt it for a second time and this time he grabs your wrist, bringing it next to your other arm that he’s already pressing into your back, now caging both of your arms in his grasp against your back as his hips slam into your ass.

A cry rips through your throat, eyes tightly squeezing shut as you drool into the covers. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking train, the knot in your stomach snapping and your entire body heats up as if you’ve been set on fire. Your slick walls constantly clench around Jungkook’s dick, making him grunt your name alongside a few swear words. His hips stutter in their movement, speed faltering as you continue to cry out in pleasure under him.

He curses under his breath, letting go of your arms. He presses his hands down on your ass until you’re fully lying on your stomach, face still pressed into the sheets. He never pulls out, on the contrary, he continues to fuck into you as you sob under him, the overstimulation has you squirming like a fish out of water.

There’s a pressure against your upper back, one that you quickly realize is his bare chest as he leans into your ear. “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathlessly says into your ear, a soft moan following his words and you feel his dick twitch inside of you. He’s close.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. His thrusts start getting inconsistent and sloppy.

“Jungkook,” you sob, a sniff following your cry and it’s the final thing you know he needs to get that knot in his stomach to snap. It doesn’t take long after for him to shoot his load into you, coating your walls with his cum.

He moans in your ear softly, something you swear is the single best sound on Earth. Paired with the best feeling on Earth, having Jungkook fuck the shit out of you.

After a few more lazy thrusts, continuously fucking his load into you, he comes to a full stop. His hips are still pressed into your ass and his forehead is pressed against your shoulder.

•••

2 hours ago

You’re scrubbing the last of your dirty cutlery with your soapy sponge when you hear 3 soft knocks on your front door.

It’s him.

You glance at the clock that’s hung up on the wall in your kitchen, your hands automatically reaching for the kitchen towel that you slung over your shoulder when you started washing your dishes. 10:45PM. You dry your hands and neatly drape the damp kitchen towel back over the cupboard’s handle before heading into the hallway.

You peek through the peephole but it’s blackened out, already knowing who it is with the way he always presses his thumb into your peephole to keep you from seeing him. You fight the smile that’s trying to force its way onto your lips as you reach for your keys.

With a sigh, you slowly unlock your front door. Your hand pulls on the door handle, creating a bigger gap and allowing yourself to be seen as your eyes make contact with his big brown ones and his sheepish smile.

There’s a cut on his cheekbone, bags under his eyes, his long black locks pulled back into a small bun. The layers that are too short to fit into the bun frame his face so perfectly, kissing the top of his brows and tickling his temples.

Still as gorgeous as ever.

He’s wearing a black shirt and grey sweats and he’s got luggage with him, allowing you to assume he probably came here straight from the airport. He must be absolutely exhausted. Or at least jetlagged.

You cross your arms, closing your cardigan around your torso in the process. “You’re back.” It’s all you can say, really. It’s all you ever say when he’s suddenly in front of your front door every few days or weeks.

Like it’s become some kind of inside joke, an inside joke just for the two of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he says without any hesitation right after the words leave your mouth. He always replies with these exact words but it catches you off guard every single time.

He doesn’t wait for you to invite him in, he knows you’ll let him. Like you always have. Like you always do. Like you always will.

He struts in, kicking his shoes off his feet but neatly placing them by the door next to his luggage before returning his attention to you, his big hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you closer. You lean back a bit to glance up at him, your thumb gently grazing the cut on his cheekbone.

He doesn’t react, just stares at you as he lets you do whatever you want. He’ll always let you do whatever you want.

Because it’s no secret that Jungkook is still in love with you.

“Does it hurt?” you ask softly, bringing the same thumb down to rub his bottom lip, peeking at him through your pretty lashes.

He shakes his head, parting his lips as he takes your thumb into his mouth and slowly circles the tip of your thumb with his warm tongue.

“You must be hungry if you came here straight from the airport. I just made some pasta, you want some?” You move your other hand up to brush some of his hair out of his face.

“Hm, I can have you for dinner as well.”

You roll your eyes and take the opportunity to take your thumb out of his mouth and pry his hands off your waist to head into the kitchen. He huffs but quickly follows you, trailing behind you like a stray kitten.

•••

With your empty dinner plates in front of you, your conversation goes on. He’s just staring at you, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. It makes him look like a bunny.

“How long are you staying in town this time?” you question, already assuming since he usually stays a week or 2 before he flies out again.

“5 days.” His answer is almost immediate, like he knew you were going to ask that question. It’s only natural, though, you usually ask him that.

“How was Paris?” you ask as you reach for your glass of water and bring it to your lips, keeping eye contact with him over the rim of your glass.

“It was good.” He leans back into his chair, rubbing his stomach which he always does after dinner. “Cold, though.”

“Yeah? I bet some lucky ladies kept you warm, no?” you tease, knowing he hates talking about that with you. You watch as he cringes, adjusting in his seat as he sits straight up.

He glances at you for a moment with a slight frown on his face and then rises to his feet, gathering the dirty plates and utensils before heading into the kitchen. You’re used to him completely ignoring questions like that.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you momentarily look out the window. You’ve always pushed him to try new things like you do, that includes moving on from you.

He simply refuses.

You need him to move on from you so you can move on from him. It’s that simple. But every single time he stands before you, it’s like he sucks all the strength to turn him down out of your body.

The water runs and you hear the clatter of dishes, assuming he’s washing them. You get up and clean the table before walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his back.

He dries his hands with your kitchen towel and turns around in your arms, cupping your face delicately, his pretty brown eyes scanning your features.

“Will you let me kiss you?” he quietly asks, thumb rubbing back and forth on your cheek.

He always asks this when you see him again. You always agree.

Your eyes shift from his left eye to his right repeatedly, a look of contemplation on your face. You both know that you really, really want him to, though.

Does he kiss the other people too? Does he caress their faces like he does you? Hold them so gently?

With a curt nod of your head, he finally leans down and presses his lips to yours. With your chin tilted up to meet his lips, your eyelids flutter close instantly, your heart rate picking up whilst a bubbling heat spreads through your body, starting in your stomach and growing all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

His lips were made to be on top of yours.

His kiss gets a bit needier, his hands holding your face so gently yet so firm, as if he’s scared to let you go. He tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, a soft muffled sound resounding in your throat.

The wet muscle you feel poking your lip doesn’t go unnoticed by you and you happily welcome his tongue, letting him lick into your mouth. By now his kiss has gotten heavy, tongue ready to devour you and swallow you whole.

With your hands still on his waist, you squeeze him gently, wanting to feel more of him. Needing to feel more of him.

After a few more minutes of passionate making out, he pulls back and deeply inhales. He’s still holding your face, tilting it even more to make you look up at him. “Will you let me fuck you?”

He always asks this when you see him again. You always agree.

Your heart jolts in your chest at the unexpectedly expected words. If the making out didn’t already leave you soaking, those words surely did.

You quickly nod to his question. As if you’d ever decline. He drops his hands, moving one to wrap around your wrist as he starts leading you toward your bedroom.

He sneaks his arm around your waist and pushes you toward your bed again, slowly letting you down onto your mattress. You reach for your pyjama shorts and yank them down, leaving you in your tank top and panties.

He drops down onto his knees in front of the bed, dragging you to the edge of your mattress by your thighs. You softly gasp at the sudden force pulling you, propping yourself up on your elbows as you set your gaze on him between your thighs, intently.

He takes his time, bringing his index finger to your clothed sex to gently rub all over your slit. Your hips jolt up like they’ve got a mind of their own but Jungkook presses you down by your lower stomach with one hand, shaking his head.

“Let me take my time, baby. You know I’ve missed this pussy.”

The moment those words leave his mouth, you let yourself fall back on your mattress. You’re sprawled on your bed with your ex-boyfriend in between your thighs and if you told yourself at 16 that this is who you were going to be when you grow up, that girl would’ve laughed at you.

Because you don’t dwell. You don’t go back. You don’t cling to the past.

But all those thoughts instantly disappear like fog in your head the moment Jungkook presses a kiss to your clit through your panties. A soft gasp leaves your lips, your fingers tucking under the hem of your panties as you try to yank them off.

He simply chuckles as he allows you to take them off, his eyes glued to your glistening sex. He wastes no time latching his tongue onto your wetness, licking a thick stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your pulsating clit. He hums in delight at the taste of you.

A cry falls from your lips, your fingers making their way to the top of his skull. You tug on the loose strands that frame his perfect face so well as you grind into his mouth.

“Hm, missed me?” he purrs, pressing you back down by pushing on your pelvic bone. He slides his hands up the back of your thighs from your ass to the back of your knees, pushing them back as he continues to devour you.

Soft moans spill from your lips as you arch your back off the bed, toes curling at the sensation of your clit being sucked on with so much fervor. “Jungkook!” you cry, pressing your palms into your eyes to try and keep yourself from bursting into tears at the pleasure.

He simply hums against your sex, dark eyes peeking up at you. His tongue slides down your slit, teasing your hole before licking back up to your clit. “There’s nothing better than the taste of this pussy,” he mumbles before wrapping his lips around your clit again, gently sucking on it.

A soft moan bubbles up the back of your throat, leaving your lips which makes him smirk against your skin. “Hm, even better than your little girlfriends?” you tease. You always use the words ‘little girlfriends’ to refer to all the girls in the city he fucks besides you, all the girls he fucks overseas, all the girls he fucks that aren’t you.

He peeks up at you again, this time a frown on his brows. You steal a glance at him when you sense him looking at you, a sheepish smile on your face. He pulls back and wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand as he lets go of your legs and rises to his feet.

You eternally groan at the fact that made him stop fucking you with his mouth but the show he’s giving you as he removes his shirt almost makes you thankful that he did.

“Yeah. And I fucked a bunch of ‘em in Paris,” he replies as he tugs his sweatpants down his legs, kicking them somewhere across the floor.

The slight raise in your eyebrows shows that you’re surprised. Jungkook never comments on your attempts at provoking him and mentions of other women.

You just shot yourself in the foot because you really, really don’t want to imagine him fucking someone else. You usually bring it up to provoke him and he usually dismisses it but this time, he puts a vivid image in your head and you don’t like it.

You huff as you sit up on your bed, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His response is immediate, his hand reaching for the hem of your tank top. You let him pull it off your body and allow him to ogle at your breasts.

He tosses your tank top at the growing pile of clothes on your floor before licking his thumb and bringing it to one of your nipples, rubbing circles around it with his wet thumb.

You sigh at the stimulation, “Were they good?” You can’t help but ask him this question, your voice coming out a bit choked but he doesn’t comment on it.

“They were fucking great.”

You almost bite a piece off your tongue, the entity that’s called Jealousy menacingly looming over your body and ready to devour you whole. You know you always provoke him but you only do it because he never responds.

You don’t comment further, you just reach for the hem of his boxers but he stops you. He swats your hands away and pushes you further back onto your mattress, so you scoot back whilst still sitting up right. He climbs into your bed next to you, sitting down on his ankles as he leans over you.

You place your hands behind you, leaning back on them as you glance up at him. He’s staring down at you, hand sliding up and down your thigh. With a little pressure, he spreads your thighs further apart and his fingers find their way back to your sex.

You grunt once his fingers make contact with your clit again, a tiny shiver running down your legs. You bend your legs at the knees, placing your feet on the edge of your bed and spreading your thighs further, still looking up at Jungkook who is staring you down like he wants to absolutely ruin you.

The tips of his middle and ring finger start rubbing consistent circles onto your pussy and you scrunch your eyebrows together, mouth falling open.

“Whose pussy is this?” he murmurs, fingers sliding down your slit and rubbing in between your folds. You moan softly at the sensation, thighs jerking in the process.

You quip, “Mine.” You know that’s not the answer he’s looking for, especially with the way his eyes narrow at you.

“Mad because I finally answered your stupid questions for once?” he scoffs, fingers sliding straight into you which earns a surprised gasp from you.

Your eyebrows scrunch together even more, your mouth still agape and your big eyes pleading for more. It’s the face you know Jungkook can’t resist, he usually kisses you right away.

But this time, he doesn’t. He doesn’t kiss you. He just stares you down as his hand starts slamming into your sex, fingers rubbing against your slick walls with each movement.

The lewd sound of your wetness almost embarrasses you but your mind is too clouded, his lustful eyes never leaving yours.

Before you can fathom what just happened, you yelp out in painful pleasure. Jungkook has retreated his fingers and brought his palm down with a slap to your wet pussy, making your legs jerk and your hands reach up to grab at his biceps.

“Ah!” you cry out at the sudden impact, your nose warming up and you know you’re about to start tearing up.

“I asked you a question.” His voice resounds inside your head, it almost makes the return of his fingers inside of you go unnoticed by you.

He fucks his fingers into you, palm slamming down on your clit whilst his fingers thrust in and out of you.

Moans spill from your throat as you hold onto his neck now, eyes squeezing shut at the delicious torture on your sex.

“Answer me, Y/N.”

You cry out when he slaps your pussy once again, your hips jolting under him but he pushes you down by your lower abdomen. He enters his fingers again, palm still continuously slamming down on your clit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to say without sobbing, the pleasure he’s giving you is making you dizzy.

“Bullshit,” he grunts, picking up the pace of his hand.

You want to pull his face closer by tugging on his neck but he doesn’t budge, his hand adamant on making you cum and it’s succeeding.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, clenching around his fingers with your eyes shut tightly. You wince when he pulls his fingers out but you have no time to react when he suddenly rubs all 4 fingers in a waving motion against your clit at an incomprehensible speed.

You cry out again, squirming under him when a different kind of knot in your stomach snaps. You open your eyes just in time to watch yourself squirt all over his hand, all over your sheets, all over your floor.

All the strength in your body dissolves and you fall back against your mattress, the sensation of squirting all over your mattress still going as you writhe under him.

His torture never stops, the demonic speed in which he assaults your clit is enough to have tears bursting out of your eyesockets and the longer he keeps going, the more you keep squirting. “You gonna answer or want me to keep going?

His name falls out of your mouth in a series of sobs, “Fuck–! Yeah, I’m mad!” you admit, pushing against his arm to try and get him to finally stop.

And he does, he pulls his hand away. He takes a while to just stare you down and if you weren’t already, you’d describe the feeling as feeling naked under him.

“So then, why do you keep asking me if you know you’ll get mad?” he asks as he starts tugging his boxers down, allowing his erection to spring free. He kicks his underwear off the bed as he uses his wet hand to pump himself, essentially lubing himself up with your slick.

Not that you’d need any type of lube now, you are completely and disgustingly soaked.

You’re still on your back, trying to catch your breath when his hand slips under the back of your knee. He spreads you for him again and circles his tip all around your sensitive sex.

“Jungkook,” you warn, the effects of overstimulation making anything you say sound like a pathetic cry.

“Shhh, I know.” He pushes into you and usually circles your clit with his thumb but he doesn’t this time, for obvious reasons. You’re grateful, though. Jungkook can get pretty rough with his so-called punishments – that are absolutely sublime – but you don’t think you could take any more clit stimulation now.

He places his hands on either side of your head and leans forward, his silver chain dangling in your face. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before he pulls away to watch your face as his hips start slamming into you.

You sob his name, legs falling limb after an attempt at wrapping them around his waist. He leans down and presses his lips to your cheeks, softly kissing your tears away.

You sniffle, enjoying his proximity as he continues to fuck into you. Soft moans escape his throat too and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world. He sounds angelic. His lips retreat from your face in the meantime as he watches your face, a look of admiration on his.

“Do you kiss them as well?” you quietly whimper, sincerity in your eyes instead of the usual teaseful look.

He observes you for a moment longer, gaze dropping to your lips quickly before returning to your eyes.

You’d tease Jungkook about being with other women, something he hated and he never took the bait, and in the two years after your break up of the two of you casually having sex whenever he’s back in town, you’d never crossed the emotional territory. Because you had always taught yourself to move on, to not dwell, to not beat yourself up.

But with Jungkook, it’s just inexplicable. You want him, you need him, you breathe him.

You didn’t expect this time to be so emotional. So raw. So unchanged.

“Would kissing be worse than fucking?” he asks, dragging you out of your thoughts. You try to fight the quiver in your bottom lip but you can’t help it, your hands wrapping around each of his wrists that are caging your head in between them.

You turn your head to look away from his overwhelming gaze, pressing your lips to the side of his arm.

Out of the blue, he picks up the pace and starts fucking into you again. Several moans and cries fall from your lips, muffled by the skin of his arm. You sense his eyes on you from your peripherals but you don’t return the eye contact, you can’t. You might burst into tears. And this time it won’t be from pleasure.

He takes the opportunity to press his lips to your neck, kissing the skin under your earlobe and making his way down.

The words ‘I love you’ are stuck in your throat, threatening to blurt out. With all the strength you can gather, you swallow them down, squeezing your eyes shut tightly.

“No one will ever compare to you.” His voice is muffled from kissing your skin but you can hear him loud and clear, aside from the skin slapping and the wet sounds from your pussy being pummeled by his hips.

You shake your head in response to him, not wanting to hear that at this moment. You’ll just fall in love with him all over again and you’d rather die, you’d much rather die.

“Shut up,” you mumble after another sniffle, turning your head to face him again. He takes his lips off your throat, letting his gaze drape all over you again and it makes you feel so small.

His thrusts come to an abrupt halt, making you wince. In one swift motion, he pulls out of you with a grunt. He sits back on his ankles and gently – yet with a firm grip – turns you around onto your stomach. His hands return to your body with a tight grip around your hips, yanking your ass up into the air.

“You want to know how I fuck them? I’ll show you,” he says breathlessly as he shoves himself right back into your wetness, fingers sinking into your skin as he pounds his hips into your ass and the back of your thighs.

This is how he fucked you when you’d have an argument back when you were together, when he was mad at you, when you were acting up. He would say he didn’t want those eyes of yours looking up at him if he was fucking you with no emotion, with no warmth, with no love.

This is his way of answering your annoying questions, you suppose.

You mewl under him, your hands gripping the soaking sheets tightly to support yourself from the momentum of his thrusts. A low grunt rumbles in his chest when you clench your walls around him. His speed is almost demonic at this point, your body being sent into overdrive as your stomach tightens again.

“Jungkook! Slow down, I’m gonna–”

You’re cut off by a harsh slap to your left asscheek, your teeth sinking into the bunched up sheets in front of your face as the stinging and warmth from the spank spreads through your skin. You yelp in pain yet pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets even tighter. You usually don’t orgasm from solely penetration but the overstimulation is causing you to physically feel every single one of your nerves electrifying in your nether regions.

“Cum, then. I’ll fuck you through as many orgasms as you want.” The pace of his merciless pounding never falters and it has you seeing every celestial body in the universe every time you blink. He grunts loudly as you start clenching around him, his hand reaching for your forearm and pulling it back to press it into your back as he continues to fuck you.

Your other hand reaches behind you, pressing flat into his lower abdomen to get him to slow down but he just swats your hand away. You attempt it for a second time and this time he grabs your wrist, bringing it next to your other arm that he’s already pressing into your back, now caging both of your arms in his grasp against your back as his hips slam into your ass.

A cry rips through your throat, eyes tightly squeezing shut as you drool into the covers. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking train, the knot in your stomach snapping and your entire body heats up as if you’ve been set on fire. Your slick walls constantly clench around Jungkook’s dick, making him grunt your name alongside a few swear words. His hips stutter in their movement, speed faltering as you continue to cry out in pleasure under him.

He curses under his breath, letting go of your arms. He presses his hands down on your ass until you’re fully lying on your stomach, face still pressed into the sheets. He never pulls out, on the contrary, he continues to fuck into you as you sob under him, the overstimulation has you squirming like a fish out of water.

There’s a pressure against your upper back, one that you quickly realize is his bare chest as he leans into your ear. “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathlessly says into your ear, a soft moan following his words and you feel his dick twitch inside of you. He’s close.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. His thrusts start getting inconsistent and sloppy.

“Jungkook,” you sob, a sniff following your cry and it’s the final thing you know he needs to get that knot in his stomach to snap. It doesn’t take long after for him to shoot his load into you, coating your walls with his seed.

He moans in your ear softly, something you swear is the single best sound on Earth. Paired with the best feeling on Earth, having Jungkook fuck the shit out of you.

After a few more lazy thrusts, continuously fucking his load into you, he comes to a full stop. His hips are still pressed into your ass and his forehead is pressed against your shoulder.

He pulls out and collapses onto your mattress, right next to your body. You crack one of your eyes open to peek at him. He’s on his back, the back of his hand pressed into his forehead with his eyes shut tight as he’s focused on steadying his breath.

You stare at him for a moment, captivated by his utter beauty. Your eyes trail the bridge of his nose, his pretty black lashes, his red cheeks and swollen lips. The thin layer of sweat makes him look like he’s covered in glitter, his cheeks glistening like a glazed donut, the pretty moles on his face making his soft skin look like a starry night sky.

The small cut on his cheekbone doesn’t go unnoticed by you, of course. The wound has seemingly healed but the skin around it is still purple and has some traces of yellow too. He’s way too beautiful to be fighting for a living.

You quickly avert your eyes when he opens his eyes again, staring straight at you as if he sensed you staring at him. You clear your throat awkwardly as you slowly turn onto your other side, giving him your cold back.

A finger starts drawing patterns on the bare skin of your back and you’re incapable of stopping the goosebumps from popping out of your skin. The mattress dips, telling you he’s scooting closer until he’s completely pressed up into your back.

He places his lips on your shoulder blade, not moving them, not kissing your shoulder. Just keeping them there, like they belong there, like they’re magnetized.

Neither of you say anything.

Nothing has to be said. You just enjoy the moment.

Because you know once he walks out your front door, you won’t see him until the day he has to catch another flight.

You know where he goes, you know what he does, you know how he spends the nights when he’s not with you.

He just showed you.

And you have no right to feel any way about it. You broke his heart.

Shattered his heart into so many pieces that you’re still the first one he sees when he’s back in town, you’re still the only one he actually lies with.

You’re the only one.

But you’re also not the only one.

•••

You stir, eyes fluttering open in the darkness of your room. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and recognize your surroundings. It’s then when you notice Jungkook’s tattooed arm lazily slung around your waist. Soft puffs leave his mouth, his breathing slow and very quiet snores fill up the room.

You silently reach for your phone, turning the screen to you and almost being blinded by the light of your phone. You squint as you try to figure out what time it is. 6:01AM.

You’re startled by the sudden jerk of his arm and you realize he’s waking up. With a turn of your head, you glance at him. He peeks at you through one eye, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” you start, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shakes his head, his lips puckered as he leans into your face. He places his lips on your jaw, softly kissing down your neck which awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.

You squirm once his breath hits your neck. “That tickles,” you giggle as you scoot away from him but he doesn’t let you get too far, quickly climbing on top of you.

You turn onto your back, tired eyes staring up at him, his beautiful hair falling forward which frames his face beautifully. It’s now that you’re reminded you’re both still naked and it makes your cheeks instantly heat up. Not because you’re embarrassed but because Jungkook’s body is temptation itself.

His muscles are soft and squishy now that they’re not flexed but you know how tight and hard his body really is. Your eyes trail the contours of his pecs and biceps, at least what you can make out in the dark.

His black locks must’ve escaped the elastic that kept his hair together in a bun whilst he was sleeping. Your hands automatically reach up, running your fingers through his beautiful hair to push it out of his face. “It’s getting quite long, hm?” you muse, ruffling through it in the meantime.

He lets you, of course, a soft chuckle leaving his throat as you play with his hair.

“You don’t like it?” he quips, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. You can hear the attempt at making it sound like a joke but you know him well enough to know he values your opinion about him.

Your tongue slides over your teeth from left to right, fighting your smirk. “Are you crazy? I love it.” You tug the hair on the back of his head, smirking when he hisses at the grip you have on him.

He pokes your rib which makes you release his hair, a quiet yelp leaving your lips at the feeling. “What time is it?” he mumbles as he buries his face in the crook over your neck, leaving wet pecks all over your skin.

“6 in the fucking morning,” you groan as you squeeze his waist, nails grazing his skin gently, rubbing patterns on his exposed skin.

He grunts as he pulls away from your neck, rolling off of you in the meantime. Your eyes are greeted with his bare back as he sits up in your bed, your hand automatically tracing the back muscles he’s putting on display for you. “I should leave, Yoongi-hyung needs me to go take new photos for my passport,” he mumbles as he lazily rubs his face.

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of Jungkook’s coach-slash-manager, Min Yoongi. You haven’t seen him since the breakup. “Already?” you ask as you crawl toward him, “Can’t you stay a little while longer?” You press your bare chest into his back and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing soft kisses to his earlobe.

His hands automatically move up to yours on his chest, bringing one of your hands up to his lips to press a kiss to it. “I was supposed to do it yesterday because I ran into some trouble at the airport. I have to fly to Australia in a couple of days.” He peels your hands off his body and gets up, pulling you up with him.

“Let’s go take a shower, we passed out in all that shit,” he laughs as he nods towards the big wet patch, right where you squirted. You’re instantly reminded of the fact you both passed out right after that intense fuck session, you didn’t even clean up after yourself. Gross.

You wince in disgust and scrunch your nose up as you nod quickly, swinging your legs off the bed and placing your feet on the floor. You stand up and let him lead you to your bathroom, he could do it blindfolded – obviously, he used to live here.

You awkwardly wobble to the bathroom, the load he fucked into you last night threatening to spill out of you with each step you take.

You switch the lights on and let him close the door behind you, trapping you against it in between his arms. He takes this opportunity to kiss you softly, catching you off guard by the sudden affection.

You welcome his kiss nonetheless, your hands roaming all over his shoulders and squeezing his muscles. You can’t get enough of him.

He abruptly pulls away and rubs your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, something unfamiliar pooling in his dark eyes as he stares you down. He parts his lips and it looks like he’s about to say something but he doesn’t. He closes his mouth and takes a step back, turning around and reaches for the lever to let the water run before he enters the shower.

A frown climbs onto your brows but you don’t comment on it. You won’t push him to talk. You quietly follow him, simply just getting into the shower and sliding the glass door shut. You cross your arms nervously as you wait for the water to heat up.

Jungkook is already used to cold showers so he hops right under, letting the droplets of water trickle down his honey skin. You reach out to him, suddenly getting the urge to slap his buttcheek, and you do.

He grunts as he glares at you over his shoulder, his buttcheeks clenching in response. You laugh as you reach for the body wash, squirting a generous amount onto your palm before you rub your hands all over his back. It’s almost like it happens automatically, he always used to ask you if you could wash his back for him.

You rub down to his buttcheeks and he whines your name childishly, making you laugh loudly. “Come on, you know I love your booty,” you tease, reaching around his waist from the back to grope his pecs.

He throws his head back in exasperation but he can’t help but chuckle, the lukewarm water finally hitting your skin. You sigh as you hold onto him, feeling his heart drum against your palm.

It’s quiet for a moment, the sound of the water hitting your bodies and the tiles filling up your eardrums. That is, until Jungkook breaks the silence.

“Have you been with anyone?” he quietly asks. The sudden question knocks the air out of your lungs for a moment because he has never asked this before in the 2 years you’ve been broken up.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he could feel your heart thumping against his back.

“Yeah.”

Jungkook’s body tenses under your skin and it isn’t long until he turns around to face you, a blank expression on his face but he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you know how it feels knowing you’re overseas fucking other people? Even when you’re here,” you explain in a panic, heart racing as he just stares you down intently.

“You’re the one that walked out on me, Y/N.”

His words sting.

“You know why I did that, Jungkook,” you whisper, tearing your gaze away from him as you pull your arms away from him to rub your own arms in an attempt to comfort yourself.

He huffs, “Yeah, and it was bullshit.”

Your head snaps back in his direction, anger bubbling in your chest and threatening to burst out of your throat in a pathetic cry. “What’s that supposed to mean, you dickhead?”

“Exactly what you think it means.” He nonchalantly shrugs, looking away from you for a moment as he rinses the bodywash. “Breaking up with me because I was ‘gone all the time’ and had a ‘dangerous job’, but you’re still here. You still let me hold you, you still let me kiss you, you still let me fuck you.”

You scoff, pushing against his chest but he doesn’t budge. You spin on your heels and reach out to the glass door of the shower, ready to make your exit but Jungkook is quicker. He doesn’t let you.

He pulls you back by your bicep, tugging on it until your back meets his chest. “You’re not going to rob me of the little time I have with you,” he mumbles as he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Let go.”

“No.” His reply is instantaneous, arms strongly caging you in.

You blink back the tears threatening to fall, his proximity enough to calm you down yet drive you crazy. You shake your head and begin, “Jungkook, I–”

“I’ll always want you, Y/N. Just say the words.”

You freeze, breath hitching in the back of your throat. You already know this. Jungkook doesn’t shy away from telling you about his feelings and reminds you every once in a while.

Before you can let your mind wander even more, you’re turned around by his strong arms in one swift motion, both his hands moving up to cup your face.

He tilts your face to make you look at him but you stay quiet. The words he’s yearning for you to say never come.

“Kiss me,” you whimper, not able to take this silence and not in the mood for a staring competition.

He doesn’t waste any time, he instantly leans down and presses his lips against yours whilst slowly pushing you backwards until your back collides with the cold tiles.

You deepen the kiss, your hands roaming his chest as he licks into your mouth. A grunt resounds in the back of your throat at the feeling of his hand slowly making its way down your waist, to your hip, to finally your bum.

He grabs a handful of your asscheek, squeezing it and it elicits a lewd moan from you. It doesn’t take long for you to feel his growing erection inflating against your lower stomach and you reach for it.

You pump him slowly, making him grunt into your mouth. You rub your thumb all over his tip, gathering his precum and spreading it all over the head of his dick.

He pulls away from the kiss, his head dropping to your shoulder as you continue to pleasure him. His hand continues to knead your asscheek, a low swear word escaping his lips.

“Look at me,” you whisper, hand still jerking him off at a torturously slow pace.

He lifts his head off your shoulder slowly and let’s his eyes meet yours, head tilted downwards as he towers over you.

“How does it feel, knowing I did this with another man?” you ask him, a clear attempt at provoking him as you peek at him through your pretty lashes.

Something between an angry scowl and a confused frown etches onto his face and he merely grunts in response. His hand stops kneading your asscheek and before you know it, he’s turned you around, your front pressed into the tiles.

You’ve let go of his dick, hands now on each side of your breasts against the tiles in front of you. Your cheek is pressed against it as well, head turned enough to see him over your shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear about that fucking garbage,” he grunts, his hand pressed flat against the spot in between your shoulder blades as he holds you against the wall firmly.

You huff, but before you know it, his hand comes down to your asscheek in a powerful slap. It makes you jolt under his hold, a yelp ripping through your throat.

He spreads your asscheeks and slowly rubs the tip of his dick between your folds, earning a moan from you and you relax under his touch.

He pushes into you, eliciting a gasp from you at the intrusion. The delicious burn makes you arch your back more. He doesn’t really wait, he just starts slamming his hips into you, a series of cries and moans falling from your lips.

“Gonna fuck me like one of your hoes again?” you snark in between moans. Another slap to your asscheek makes you grunt and you look over your shoulder at him again.

He doesn’t even look at you, just snakes his hand around your face and drapes his palm over your mouth as he peels your face off the tiles and toward him, making you arch your back even more.

He continues to fuck angrily into you, “I fucking hate you,” he grunts, eyes glued to his dick disappearing inside of you.

You moan into his palm, eyes rolling back as the head of his dick repeatedly kisses your cervix. “Jungkook–!”

His other hand grips onto your waist, keeping you steady as he pounds into you. The strength in his hand has you seeing stars, if he put just a little more strength into it, you’re convinced he could crack your ribs.

“Come with me to Australia,” he whispers in your ear, lips softly brushing against the shell.

You close your eyes as you listen to his words. He’s often offered to take you with him, offered any way to keep seeing you, to keep being with you, to still have you.

“Please,” he whispers in desperation, the hand on your waist moving down to your sex as he furiously rubs your clit.

You cry into his hand, squirming and writhing under him but he has you under control. His thrusts never falter in speed and it has your eyes rolling back as you recognize the familiar knot in your stomach growing.

“Am gonna cum,” you whimper into his palm, but he doesn’t comment as he continues to destroy you.

He presses a kiss to the back of your ear, teeth gently nibbling on your earlobe and you slowly start losing control.

Your entire body is set alight, his hand leaving your mouth so he can listen to your pretty moans for him. Your orgasm comes to you like a punch to the gut, your eyes shutting tightly as pure bliss takes over you. You squirm under him, hips involuntarily jolting and knees buckling.

Both his hands return to your waist as he continues to fuck into you, wanting to get to his own release.

You’re fucked out, pressing your cheek against the tiles as moans continue to spill from your lips.

It doesn’t take long after for Jungkook to cum, shooting his release straight into you as he moans your name softly into your ear alongside a few swear words, which you’ve grown used to.

His thrusts get inconsistent, his breaths heavy and his grip on you loosens until he comes to a complete stop.

You stay there, mind clouded with nothing but Jungkook.

You’d considered going with him often but being on planes and having jet lag every few days wasn’t your dream, it was his. And while you would give up your life for him, you didn’t want him giving up his life for you. You know he’d start taking less fights, training, matches just to please you, to be with you, to love you.

He quietly pulls out but you don’t budge. When he notices, he takes it upon himself to clean you up, draping the showerhead over you, washing your body, your hair, his body, his hair.

The rest of the shower is quiet.

Not a single word was spoken.

•••

You both get dressed in silence, the occasional clinking of metal and ruffling of fabric being the only sounds in the room.

After he’s fully dressed and you’re back in your comfortable pajamas, you head down the corridor with him closely following behind you.

A soft exhale pushes past your lips when you unlock your front door as he puts his shoes on. You suddenly slouch, pressing your forehead against the front door. You think about the situation for a moment, the ruffling of him putting his shoes on being the only thing you hear.

“What?” he asks once he straightens his back and sees you looking out of it.

You push yourself off the door, turning to glance at him before momentarily looking away. “What are we doing, Jungkook?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is not right.” You shake your head, your hand moving up to adjust the earring in your earlobe. “Why do you keep showing up at my front door?”

You’d never asked him that before so he’s surprised, the slight raise in his eyebrows being proof of that.

His brown eyes stare you down, a look of contemplation on his face before he takes a step closer to you – making your heartbeat mess up its perfectly fine pace.

“Why do you keep opening it for me?”

He knows he’s got you, that much is clear. You’re at fault as much as he is. You know you shouldn’t keep letting him in but you do and you always will. You’ll always want him.

He reaches for the door handle but you make no effort to move out of his way, essentially letting him cage you in between him and the door.

You really don’t want him to go.

You prepare to speak, clearing your throat in hopes that your voice doesn’t give out. “I’m trying to forget about you. You know that.”

His gaze burns holes in your irises, a whimper threatening to burst from your throat at the intensity. He leans down and presses his lips to yours in a quick kiss but pulls away too quickly for you, your lips chasing his for a split second before you realize he has already pulled away.

“I will never let you forget about me.”

The words leave his mouth with a certain arrogance yet desperation before he pulls you toward him by your waist. You think he’s going to kiss you again but he’s simply pulling you out of the way, to allow himself to open the door and leave.

And he does, your sad eyes intently watching as he exits your once-shared home and closes the door behind him, luggage in hand.

↑ part one ; part two →

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[jellytae]

Cut Me Open (ft. Yoongi) Part 01 [M]

→ marriedcouple!au, surgeon!au spin-off from CardioPalps → 15k words, rated for sex, possible triggers (talk of divorce/miscarriage/family issues), and medical jargon that took me 5ever to research 

→ part 1 | part 2 coming soon

A/N: So the second part is definitely on its way. It just ended up being way too long together to make it a full fic. But please, don’t think that this is how it ends! Stay tuned for the second part! 

Love. 

Neuroscience and Biology like to tell us that it’s a side-effect of a release of a hormone called Dopamine and oxytocin, the same two hormones released when the guy living under the bridge snorts up another line of coke, and when the horribly suffering and screaming woman holds the human she just pushed out of her vagina for the first time in her arms. 

Doctors like to ignore it, ignore the religious and hippie suggestions that “love can conquer anything,” because we, like many other medical professions, believe in science. 

We don’t believe those superstitions that if a man is diagnosed with a tumor but learns to love his life and fights for it, he is magically healed of his fatal diagnosis. No, we smile and nod at the patient and his family, congratulate him, and then turn around and walk away because we know that it was the chemo therapy and the gamma rays we shined into his thoracic cavity that destroyed all the stomach cancer cells along with his hair follicles. But what the patients don’t know won’t kill them. 

But, aside from love, a reason why the medical field has the third highest divorce rates in the world, is because we doctors are professional line-drawers. 

We draw lines for a living. Not the plastic surgeon, sharpie-a-line-over-your-boob kind of line, but a physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental line. Theres always the line, the one that lies between a living patient and a dead patient. There’s always the line that you mustn’t cross with the people on your surgical table, the difference between a bleeding aorta nicked by the slip of the hand weilding the scalpel and a healthy one. There’s the lines you must draw with your co-workers, the ones who you don’t dare call your friends because then everyone would know that you too don’t have friends outside the workplace. 

And then, there’s the line you draw with those who you love. Whether or not they’re sitting on your table, brain flap open for you to probe, you must draw lines. You can’t operate on someone who’s close or related to you. You can’t offer to waive fees for someone who you once respected back in high school. You can’t be in relationships with your patients, friendly or sexual. 

And you definitely shouldn’t be married to your partner, and co-leader of your department, who currently despises your guts as much as you hate performing rectal exams this far into your career. 

You wished you knew that when you agreed to this job five years ago. 

Keep reading

[jellytae]

ah yes me reblogging yet another ongoing fic but I LOVE THIS TOO MUCH OMG???? literally stayed up until 4 am last night reading this godsend of a story!!

they’re so toxic but also not???? the part at the end where y/n was tipsy and tryna love on him and he wasnt having it… gawdd that writing. anyways i will probably reread this until the new chapter comes out bc i absolutely loved the writing and storyline.

over wine | masterlist

pairing. jungkook x ex-model! fem reader

rating. mature, 18+

au/genre. rich couple! au, established relationship! au, married couple! au, (semi) sugar daddy! au, suburban couple! au, angst, fluff and smut.

warnings. will be mentioned at the beginning of every chapter.

note. as over wine is still in midst of the writing process, certain information mentioned below could change over time.

DRABBLES

i; screw up (f)

Jungkook wants to make your first date special and unlike any other night you’ve had before. While determined to win your heart over with a fancy, romantic dinner that includes sweet, tasty chardonnay and medium rare steaks, not everything goes according to his plan.

ii; at all costs (a, f, mature)

It is 2 in the morning when you and your boyfriend cut your night short and return back to his dorm after a massive argument hit. All he wants to be is your go-to person, the boyfriend you need during times where you might need a hug. But how can he when you keep shutting him out?

I. OVER COCKTAILS AND DIOR-BOWED ROSES

↳ Designer dresses, spa weekends and rare wines are no longer enough to keep your relationship afloat. With your husband gone from home and a marriage standing on shaky grounds, you stumble back to your neglected career that could possibly fulfill the void in your life. You’re ready to take the risk, whether that is with the emerald cut diamond around your ring finger, or without. (m)

word count. 37.8k

II. OVER MOTELS AND BUSINESS PROPOSALS

↳ Jungkook doesn’t believe you found your passion in life the way you’ve been attempting to convince him. He is assured that all you need is a little push before you run back to your perfect life back in the suburbs. Plan gone to waste without a quick game of cat and mouse. May the best players win. (m)

release. tba

III. OVER PROMISES AND CLEAN SWEEPS

↳ Things have changed and there’s nothing to be gained from going over old grounds, you’ve decided. Though old grounds are all you can hold on to, and you need to make decisions.

This time, rather quick. (m)

release. tba

© koocycle 2022

[jellytae]

i dont usually reblog unfinished/on hiatus fics but HOLY FUCK WAS THIS INSANELY GOOD????? USER SOFT4GGUK PLS COME BACK QUEEN WE NEED U HERE TO FINISH THIS PLEAEEWEWAASSEEEEEEEEEEE I NEED THE REST OF THIS STORY ITS TOO FUCKING GOOD OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

"boyfriend of my dreams" pt. 1

Pairing: jungkook x reader

Genre: college au. pwp. smut. strangers to lovers (or are they?)

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: oc's mean :/ but the bois ~love her. jk's so sweet. protected sex. dirty talk. mentions of alcohol & drugs (a lil weed). fingering.

Author’s note: hi <3 I started this so long ago to celebrate hitting 1k and got to finish it just now and wanted to share it. this was fun, felt like me when I wrote it. thank you for being patient with me during this time and for sending me love even when I'm away - it means more to me than I'll ever be able to express. I hope u enjoy, I'll make sure to pop in and chat w u guys! x

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

pt. 1

You lean your head to the side, smiling mischievously to yourself, absentmindedly drawing the far end of your pen between your lips. Namjoon scores a point – it’s mostly luck, catching his counter partner, and friend, off-guard. The ruckus that unfolds when he does is a tad bit too passionate for a mundane game of ping pong but that’s no obstacle to them, they’ll make a party out of almost anything.

Taehyung jumps on Namjoon’s back right as he breaks out in a celebratory sprint around the ping pong table, emitting laughter from everyone around them. Jin grabs a hold of his face, bringing it closer and planting a loud kiss on his forehead. Even the opposing team is cheering him on.

“Are they drunk?” Sumi asks, narrowing her eyes at them as she gives up on re-reading the same paragraph for the third time, unable to hold an ounce of concentration with the commotion before her.

“It’s 11 A.M.” Sydney types away on her phone, studying far from her intentions as she rides a hangover herself. She’s propped up on one elbow, breaking the circle you’ve formed on the green grass.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Sumi retorts, closing her textbook with more force than needed before letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Namjoon is so… buff.” Your eyes don’t leave him, a pout adorning your lips as he chuckles, getting back into position to continue the heated game of ping pong.

“Stop fucking our friends.” Sydney’s tone laces indifference, eyes still glued to her screen. The reflection on her dark sunglasses giving you a perfect view of the obliterating left swipes as she fishes through Tinder. Nobody stands a chance. You laugh.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?” Sumi asks.

Sydney turns to her and then back to you, head lowering until her icy blue eyes are penetrating yours. “Hoseokie is still freed from your perversions, right?” She pauses and Sumi scoffs. “Right?”

“He came over on Monday to study for that Introduction to Philosophy class we share.” Your sentence is innocent and you try to match it with your tone but it falters, hinting sultry towards the end.

Sydney stays quiet for a second too long before she snickers, nodding slowly to herself, shooting you a “Nice.”

“So that makes all of them.” Sumi ponders, suddenly overwhelmed by the mental math. She’s fighting her own hungover demons.

“That’s Jin on fresher’s night. Jimin last Halloween,” Sydney starts.

“Then she went through her stoner phase and thought she was in love with Taehyung because they would always fuck under the influence,” Sumi adds, condescendingly.

Sydney nods at this. “That gets you a hall pass, ___. Hell, I’m in love with Taehyung. Look at him.”

“Mmhm,” you contemplate, thinking about how even in his hazy state he would pull orgasms out of you like it was easy.

Sumi snaps her fingers repeatedly. “Yoongi after that festival we went to over the summer.”

“And during,” Sydney points a finger her way.

You smile at the memory. It was thrilling, really, breaking the stigma his passive and reserved personality had painted him as. It gets you a little hot and bothered, attention almost fully diverting from what your eyes were originally after.

“Then Joonie last month – at least you guys went on a, you know, actual date.”

Sydney looks over at Sumi, mock endearment on her features. “She tried.”

“I can try harder.” You reach for your bag, fishing its insides for your lip gloss and some watermelon gum. You begin to straighten up as you apply the sticky, shiny product on your pouty lips, tuning into character – flirty and determined.

“Hold up,” Sydney’s voice gets both your and Sumi’s attention, fixed on her all of a sudden. She holds up her phone, removing her sunglasses as her eyes travel from the screen to the direction of the boys that are still in deep their Olympic style ping pong game.

You lean over, Sumi mimicking your movements until Sydney’s got two pairs of curious eyes eyeing her screen alongside her own.

“What? What?” Sumi’s eyesight betrays her, the sun hitting straight on the screen, making it hard to make up the image.

You see it perfectly though – Sydney’s screen flashes a Tinder page, a dark-haired boy smiling brightly back at you. When your eyes follow the line of vision that stands right ahead, that same smile finds you, only this time it’s directed at Namjoon.

You scoff. “It’s a small world. I thought one of the perks of living in a big city was the animosity.”

“Says you Mrs. No-man-left-standing.” Sydney sneers.

Sumi rolls her eyes, snatching the phone from Sydney’s grasp and bringing it close to her face so she can join in the discourse. “Oh,” she says, wincing slightly but awfully casual.

“Oh?” Sydney mimics.

“It’s Jungkook.”

“Who?” Both you and Sydney say at the same time, earning yourselves another eye roll from Sumi.

“Jeon Jungkook,” she begins but the confusion in your faces remain. “He’s a sophomore. We’ve met him- multiple times. Plays soccer? Center back?”

Sydney frowns. “Do I look like that rings a bell?”

“He’s been at almost every party this year.”

“He’s a sophomore why would I give two?” You defend.

“Because the boys have introduced us to him- multiple times. He’s even part of their little gamer cult that meets every Tuesday. He’s pretty much inserted in their group of friends which, by default, makes him part of our group of friends. He’s very nice, actually.”

A dark smile forms on Sydney’s lips. “Well, aren’t you smitten. Maybe if you’d spent less time gathering all of this information, he wouldn’t be on my Tinder feed right now.”

Sumi waves her hand at her dismissively, putting full focus back on her text book.

Sydney shrugs. “I’m swiping right.”

“Cougar.” You tell her.

“It’s a match,” she informs, gaze traveling back to the boy who reaches for his phone as in sync. He looks at the screen for a short second before they’re on Sydney for the split of that. She holds that intimidating, cat-like gaze until she’s got him visibly flustered – eyes glued to the ground, and you can’t see, but have no doubt he’s blushing. You turn to her, eyes narrowed. She shrugs. “He’s only a year younger.”

“He looks like a virgin.”

“I’ll try anything once.” You laugh at this, shooting her a pointer finger in agreement. “Or you want this one, too? Since, you know, apparently he’s a friend.” She turns to Sumi as she says this but the latter is consumed in her studies.

“No, thank you. I look up not down.”

“Is that code word for blowjob?”

You snort, eyes rolling playfully at her. “Interpret it as you wish, my lovely bimbo.”

She smiles at you and you let out a light chuckle before you’re standing up from your comfortable sitting position. You stretch a little, fixing your dangerously short skirt. Spring is here after all and after confining one of your best qualities to jeans for all of winter, it’s time to honor your attributes once again.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Sydney cheers on.

“Go get him. She’ll take it literal.” Sumi adds and you all break out in laughter.

You make your way to your friends, ping pong game long forgotten after the arrival of Jungkook. They’re all standing around him, ogling him as if he was a puppy almost. Endeared smiles his way as he tells a story. Taehyung even ruffles his hair some. You roll your eyes – if only they were this committed to loving on their one night stands the way they love on their new little friend they wouldn’t be confined to your roster.

Yet perhaps it’s all for the best.

“Namu,” your voice is sweet as his name passes your lips like a little melody.

When Namjoon turns around at your beckoning, six more faces turn to you in perfect unison. You smile and like a domino effect, they return it. All but one.

You might’ve been unaware of his presence right that second – hell, of his name a couple minutes prior even, but Jeon Jungkook knows who you are. He knows all too well. Not by means he would necessarily feel proud to disclose (i.e., his friends being way too vocal about the wonder that is you) but you are very much in his radar. He sees you now, a tender smile on your face that only makes those tempting eyes of yours all that enticing to him. Enticing and confusing, that is. The way you call Namjoon’s name makes him wish, even if for a brief unconscious second, that it was him you were after.

Perhaps he’s giving himself way too much credit.

He’s wanted that, very much consciously, since the first night he met you.

It’s the oldest story in the world and you’d think it would consequently make it predictable; but Jungkook is yet to reap off the benefits of the cliché he walked himself straight into the moment you walked into Yoongi’s apartment that one night.

“Do you guys always throw parties after Game Club?”

“Hm. Depends, really.” Jin walks alongside Jungkook all the way to the kitchen counter, where an unholy amount of liquor lays, uncapped and ready to be responsible for the same amount of sin. Yoongi’s apartment lights shine dim red LED lights, making it all seem very Euphoria-esque. All the parties Jungkook had attended in his short first year of college had been rather trashy – sweaty bodies and frat bros that did highly questionable things after hours. This felt different. The crowd much smaller, the music far cooler and the overall atmosphere much more inviting. “Sometimes it’s just us. Sometimes we have… company, my young one.”

Jungkook follows Jin’s line of vision until they, too, land right on… company. Said company is looking right back at them – well, probably more at Jin than anything. A pretty girl with electric blue hair smiles at Jungkook, a small wave his way before she’s shyly looking down at the floor. Jungkook’s a weak man and the sweetness she exudes shoots right to his heart. And then very much right to his dick. Scratch that – Jungkook was a weak boy.

Jin laughs when he notices his sudden flustered state. “That’s Jieun. A doll, yes. But don’t let the shiny eyes deceive you, she will beat your ass in MapleStory. No mercy.”

For some reason, Jin’s words do zero favours to Jungkook, finding a girl beating his ass in the video game he’s had mastered since he was 12 awfully enticing.

He sounds nervous when he says, “she’s pretty.”

She’s looking at him again, an all too obvious glance down Jin’s direction for reinforcement before they’re glued back on Jungkook – sweet and welcoming but laced with something so incredibly attractive.

“You want her?” Jin’s voice breaks him out of his trance.

“Uh- I mean,” Jungkook doesn’t want to get his hopes up let alone objectify the girl.

“I’m only asking because she wants you.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”

“I-”

Before Jungkook can elaborate on his obvious attraction for her, all eyes and ears redirect back to the front door. Your entrance is not necessarily loud but Sumi’s greeting certainly is – oddly obnoxious and out of character whenever she’s had one too many shots of tequila.

Jin smiles, waving over at you. “What took you so long?” He says this loud enough for you to hear.

You simply smile, slyly and cheeky for reasons Jungkook can’t decipher. Now, he’s not a nosy person but he gets a sudden urge to know. He can’t quite explain it. He also can’t quite explain why his mind is erased blank in that moment – suddenly unaware of where it was only a couple of seconds prior. You draw him in, despite the fact you haven’t all but glanced in his direction – even though he’s right next to Seokjin.

Jimin greets you in a hug and Jungkook doesn’t miss the way his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer until his lips lower to your ear. He says something that makes you smile, biting your lip as you chuckle slightly.

Jungkook thinks that’s it, you’re taken by none other than the person he’s grown the closest to in the group.

Only that’s not it, because in the span of the night he sees you fall into a messy but passionate make out session with Taehyung after an, in his very humble opinion, purposely failed game of suck and blow. You also sit on Yoongi’s lap as he rolls a joint that he shares only with you. Not to mention the way you have special pet names for Hobi and Jin.

A week after that party, you go on a date with Namjoon.

An enigma.

Hot as all hell,

But an enigma nonetheless.

Needless to say, Jungkook finds more entertainment that night in following you with his wonderous gaze than in entertaining sweet-gaze-blue-hair. Even if everything you do just makes you all that more confusing.

But hot. So very hot.

~

“Oh my God, you fuck me so-,” your words hitch right in your throat, a loud moan in replacement that finishes the sentence for you.

Good. He fucks you so good.

“Is that so, babe? You gonna cum for me?” Namjoon’s words hit you like a drop that tips the glass – a metaphor that fits the situation perfectly as your orgasm rips through you in waves of pleasure. You don’t have time to announce it, per say, but he doesn’t need you to say it in order to feel it.

His smirk is cocky and it would do things to you if you could see it. He bends you over further, hand coming to tangle itself in your hair as he pushes your face to the mattress, fucking you harder as he chases his own high.

“Cum for me, Joonie.”

The pet name is sweet but your tone is so filthy and that about does it for him, his tight grip on your hip growing firmer as he spills inside the condom with a soft, “fuck- I’m cumming.”

He pulls out with a hiss and your body falls to his mattress, a sigh leaving your hips as you swim in pure bliss – body almost ecstatic over how good he just made you feel. His hands grab you by the waist, turning you on your back so quickly you barely register it. You yelp and he snickers, positioning himself back between your legs – just how this ordeal all started.

“Fuck, ___. You fuck me like you love me.”

“I don’t,” your words get lost in soft little playful giggles. “That’s why it’s so good.”

He smiles, his brain convincing his body he could go again right then and there. “And that’s why I love you.”

You grab his face, pulling him down for a kiss. His eyes are closed, lips pouty as you say, “as a sexy friend that lets you fuck her brains out?”

His tongue licks at your lips before he bites on his lower one. “As a sexy friend that lets me fuck her brains out.”

“Mm, convince me again.”

“Gladly.”

His brain wins, body more than ready to go. He kisses you, deep right off the bat as your legs wrap around his waist, arm outstretching to reach for one of the condoms you’d tossed on his bed. You break the kiss, eyes on his as you bring the foil package to your lips, opening it with little hassle, hands lowering to his-

“Doorbell.”

“Huh?” You say, confused. Brain still a little foggy from the arousal.

“Someone’s at the door,” he says.

You whine into his mouth, pulling him closer to you. “It’s probably the pizza we ordered when you were trying to court me.”

He lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I wouldn’t court you with pizza.”

He frees himself from your hold, a soft peck to your forehead before he’s reaching for his sweatpants, throwing them on before passing you one of his oversized hoodies.

“Why? I like pizza…” You’re all but left alone with your thoughts as he leaves his room, well on his way to the front door already.

Namjoon is feeling rather chirpy. In a good mood that doubles as bliss – fucked silly, if you will. His steps pick up as he gets closer to the door, overly enthusiastic as he twists the doorknob ready for-

“Jungkookie.”

“Pizza,” he says, pushing the green and red striped box in his direction.

“You work for Papa John’s?”

Jungkook frowns. “No. The delivery guy just left it on the floor… I thought I’d pick it up.”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. Thanks, bud. What are you doing here?”

Another frown from the youngest, confused at finding Namjoon so disoriented. “You told me I could come… for those anatomy books, remember?”

Namjoon doesn’t remember and it’s rather obvious by the frown on his face. Right that second, in glorious sync, Jungkook makes out the reason why.

“Pizza!”

You come out of his room, in nothing but an oversized hoodie he’s seen on his friend many times before – nothing but the oversized hoodie he’s seen on his friend many times before. Your hair’s messy, mascara smudged around your glassy eyes and even from afar, Jungkook can make out the crimson traces of a love bite adorning your neck.

“Of course, I remember, Jungkookie. Come in, come in. I’ll get them for you.”

You smile, more at the pizza than at him – eyes fixed on the box he’s still holding.

“Uh- thanks, hyung.”

“No worries- oh, you’ve met ___, right?”

His gaze travels down, the patterns on the pizza box suddenly holding his focus fully. “Y-yeah.”

Namjoon walks back to his room to, presumably, grab those anatomy books that got Jungkook walking right into this situation. You walk over to him, eyeing him absentmindedly before you open the pizza box he’s holding, grabbing a cheesy piece for yourself before taking a big bite.

You moan.

You moan and Jungkook has no choice but to follow his animalistic instincts and look up at you, big round eyes searching for yours that are shut as you feast on a piece of pizza that can’t certainly be that good. When you open your eyes, Jungkook wants to look away. He even tries, but it’s to no avail, way too hypnotized by your close proximity.

“You want some?” You ask, shoving the slice in his direction.

He gawks at you before he reminds himself, pizza – you’re offering him pizza.

“N-no… thank you, though.”

“Wait a minute,” you say, brain zeroing in on a thought. “You’re Sydney’s little tinder conquest.”

Jungkook does not know what to say. Nothing comes to him – not a quirky remark, not a simple answer. Nothing. All he can do is stare at you, eyes traveling down for a split second as you sit on the edge of the couch, the hem of the hoodie hiking up your thighs, exposing way too much skin for him to keep his inner dialogue from producing a loud scratching sound and just absolutely rewinding. He stays quiet.

“You are! Hm… cute.” You say, and he can’t quite make out if you’re being honest or downright condescending. He hates to admit it but either way, it’s turning him on. “When are you guys going on a date? Oooh, take her to the movies! She likes indie films, believe it or not. Her favorite food is sushi and she does not like long walks on the beach.” You say with a proud smile, wiggling your eyebrows at him in a suggestive matter.

He stays silent yet again and you simply shrug, taking another bite from your pizza as Namjoon finally comes out from his room, a stack of books in his hands.

“Here you go, Kook. This class’ a bitch, don’t know why’d you pick it as an elective. If you need help studying let me know.”

“Thank you, Joon. I appreciate it.”

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow at Tae and Jimin’s?”

“Yep.” He says, eyes making too big of an effort to avoid you and you can tell, which makes you smile. Sydney’s gonna have a blast with this one, always down for a lil subby.

Jungkook turns around, thanking his angels that interaction is about done. He struggles for a minute with the doorknob, hands full of books and a tremor to them that don’t necessarily help his case. You chuckle and he can hear it, the little balance he had on the heavy hardbacks faltering before they finally fall to their tragic fate, hitting the floor with a hard thump. He curses the same angels.

Namjoon comes to his rescue, reaching for the books as he tells him, “Let me get that for you.”

Jungkook grabs them, securing them in his hold once again before giving his friend a genuine smile before uttering a, “thanks.”

He leaves the apartment with a haste that emits another chuckle from you.

He hears it again.

Thankfully, he’s far from earshot when you say,

“He’s kinda weird.”

Namjoon narrows his eyes at you, closing the door after him. “He’s just introverted. A term you’re not familiar with.”

You give him a mindless shrug. “Cute.”

You mean it – condescendingly, that is.

~

Taehyung and Jimin are a dynamic duo. They’re also roommates and not afraid to fall into the pleasures a night of excess might ensue. That’s exactly why them hosting parties is a once in a full moon event – no, really. They follow the zodiac calendar religiously, making sure that whenever the moon ends a cycle, they’re ending the night with a crowd of partygoers that are not only drunk on liquor but all sorts of indulgences.

Little is off limits during Tae and Jimin’s full moon parties and, logically, it’s your favorite night of the month. It’s become quite poetical, really. Also, an excellent way for them to get laid, because, what’s more romantic than the Moon and a night that sort of revolves around it? Men that know their moon cycles, that is.

So, once a month, when the Moon is nice and plump, you and yours get extra done up and double the excess. It’s an iconic practice and you will it admit, it’s seen some of your best nights in college.

You make your way to your front door, stopping briefly by the mirror, giving yourself a double take. It’s a combination of the skin tight baby blue dress paired with the oversized leather jacket and Sumi’s surprisingly nasty playlist that has you feeling yourself. Eyes smoked out with enough black shadow to have you dreading the process of taking it off later.

“You look like Mick Jagger just had its way with you.” Sydney has never been one to enter any sort of situation casually.

“That made me a little horny.” You say, returning the smile that forms on her lips at your words.

“Great. Let’s make it worst with tequila,” she holds the bottle towards you, half full with clear liquid dancing around the thick glass.

“It’s like you guys want me to make bad decisions tonight.” Sumi says, one half of her hair curled and the other flat as she rests a hand on her hip dismissively.

“That’s when you’re even more fun, Sumi.” Sydney says, glossy lips smacking against her cheek.

“Ew.”

“See? You wouldn’t reject my affection after one shot of tequila.”

She smiles. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

You clap. “That’s my girl.”

Sydney moves swiftly around your apartment, a natural in the kitchen – when it comes to a perfect tequila shot ensemble, that is. She displays it like she would a charcuterie board; a row of limes lined in perfect crescent moon shapes and little mountains of salt to ease the kick. She comes out from behind the counter, plate in hand and fingers tightly gripping to the neck of the tequila bottle. Her walk is flirty, steps skipping some as excitement is perfectly reflected on her face and the little giggles she lets out as she kneels in front of your coffee table.

The tall shot glasses you’d retrieved await the assault as you three work in perfect sync – lime juice coating the rim promptly before you’re dipping it in salt, the clear liquid following. Your eyes widen as some spills, dripping down your hand as Sydney snickers. Sumi complains about her glass being too full.

“Glass half full, not half empty, Sumi.” Sydney sneers.

She simply rolls her eyes, not putting too much of a fight as she raises her glass to join the toast circle you’ve started.

“What to?”

“Whatever we want.” Sydney’s tone is determined and she doesn’t really give you both time to object before she’s clinking her glass to yours, tongue licking around the rim before she’s downing the shot.

You shrug, not unhappy about it one bit as you mimic her movements. Sumi lets out a breathy laugh, pleased as she does the same.

“Who’s on your mind, ___?” Sumi asks, wincing at the burn before she soothes it by biting on the lime.

“No one in particular… you know I like spontaneity.”

“Wasn’t Joonie inside of you like- this morning?” Sydney adds.

“What does that have to do with anything?” You reply, genuinely confused as your friends look at each other, laugh erupting from both of them. “Hey.”

“I want Eunwoo,” Sumi says, tucking her face between her hands, letting out a dreamy sigh.

Sydney snaps her fingers, giving her a thumbs up. “Should I go after Tinder boy,” she ponders for a bit, “What’s his name again?”

“Oh my God, Sydney.” Sumi huffs. “Jungkook.”

“Jungkook!”

“They call him Jungkookie,” you tease, remembering your little encounter with him yesterday at Namjoon’s.

“Aw. That’s almost virginal.” She says, mocking endearment.

You laugh and Sumi throws you a nasty look. “You guys are awful. He seems like an actually nice guy.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sydney says in between chuckles.

“You know, not like his troglodyte friends that bolt at the first insinuation of commitment.” Sumi says. “He gives me like… boyfriend of my dreams vibes, you know?”

Both you and Sydney stare at her, half amused, half baffled. Confused but so very entertained at her train of thought. Your eyes remain on her for a couple more seconds before you’re both breaking out in laughter, eyes squinting shut as you throw your heads back, clapping for emphasis. You can’t see or hear the way Sumi scolds the two of you for being so insensitive.

“Well,” Sydney says, attempting to collect herself. “He can be someone else’s boyfriend of my dreams. I’ll be like, a send-off present before he finds the girlfriend of his dreams.”

You high five her, encouraging her funny remarks. “See, Sumi? Isn’t that nice of Syd?”

Sumi stares at you both, shaking her head before she rolls her eyes and downs another shot.

~

You wish you were more of a romantic. You wish you could come up with a million or so pretty words to describe the way life feels in moments like these. You wish there was a better way to phrase what it feels like to be standing in a room full of familiar faces, friendly faces, new faces – beautiful faces. Bodies coming together in sync with the beat of the music. Boys kissing girls, girls kissing boys and kissing girls, too. Boys kissing boys, not an ounce of love and lust suppressed. Just the pure inertia of the moment and a mix of a couple other things that make you even more susceptible to the world around you.

Your eyes close, softly and in what feels like slow motion, as you let yourself be consumed with the feeling, this moment, the heat the bodies around you radiate. A smile forms on your face and something tells you it’ll linger for the rest of the night.

Said smile grows tenfold when your eyes open and your gaze meets Yoongi’s. Joint sitting lazily between his lips, ginger hair tussled and eyes red. He raises a brow at you and your demeanour changes in a matter of seconds – eyelids feeling heavy all of a sudden, your smile turning into a smirk. He returns it – a lopsided grin adorning his features before he takes the joint from his lips, putting it in between yours. You lean forward a little bit, looking into his eyes as he winds the lighter a couple of times before both your eyes land in the flame between you.

The smoke feels dense as it passes through your lips, down your throat and out again in a rhythmic pattern. You feel it right away, that mellow haziness that settles through you. He takes a hit, too, unconsciously taking a step forward. Your hand brushes his and he entwines your fingers, almost instinctively. There’s no rush to Yoongi ever, and he touches just like that.

He fucks like that, too.

“Yoongi…” your voice is airy, but he can hear your thoughts just by the way your lips move.

“Hmm?” His voice is hoarse, cat eyes piercing into yours – not losing eye contact, not even as a cloud of smoke passes his lips.

“I want you.”

You’d be less brass about it but it’s not like those words haven’t left your mouth before – in much more compromising circumstances, even.

He smiles, nodding. One last hit before he’s killing the joint. “Me too.”

“Let’s go.”

“You’re faded, baby. Let’s wait a little.”

He gets closer to you, the hand that’s still locked around yours coming to your lower back, his other sitting at your waist.

“Okay,” you say and your voice is but a whisper, sending shivers down his spine as your lips sit right beside his ear.

“Want some water?” He asks you.

You shake your head. “No, I’ll just go wind down a little. Wait for me here.”

“I will.” And when he says this, his lips are mere inches away from yours, sending your mind into a frenzy, making you feel ten times more drunk. And ten times more high.

You squeeze yourself between the dancing bodies, smiling and knowing eyes as you pass Sumi, arms around Eunwoo’s neck as they kiss. You want to touch and be touched just like that.

You up your pace, making your way to the kitchen, heading straight towards the fridge and snatching a bottle of blue Gatorade that you know Jimin and Tae keep as after party favours – and to ease the diabolical hangovers that usually result as consequences to these parties. You take a sip and a deep breath before you walk towards their laundry room, opening the door and closing it behind you as you’re suddenly engulfed in darkness so dense it immediately relaxes you. The music from outside the tiny space is muffled but you still feel your ears ringing from the base.

You light the flash on your phone, quickly making up your surroundings. There’s a washing machine that makes up the far end corner of the room, a snug fit between the walls. You take two steps and in one swift motion you’re sitting on top of it, feet briefly hitting a small shelf that holds detergent and baskets. Mildly claustrophobic yet peaceful, semi-quiet and dark.

You’ll be sober in fifteen minutes max.

~

Jungkook has never felt more sober in his life.

In an almost parallel universe to yours, he finds himself amidst the crowd, not a place in his body left untouched as he takes a step back, body coming into contact with Jin’s, who’s far too busy with a touch of his own to even acknowledge him when he apologizes.

“Sorry for what?” The words lace themselves with a soft giggle, her hands squeezing a little at his chest before they’re traveling upwards and snaking around his neck.

Lola takes a step forward, closing the previous distance Jungkook had put between them and she wastes no time, eyes closing before her lips are grazing his, a soft gust of air passing her mouth in lust. It turns him on and he feels himself letting go a little – his hands at her hips, slowly moving upwards until they rest at her waist, pulling her closer. She giggles again and it pisses him off so he kisses her.

Just like a couple of minutes prior, it’s sloppy. Her tongue diving straight in for his, soft whines passing her mouth as she puts her hands on top of his, quickly moving them downwards again, passed her hips until she’s closing them around the flesh of her ass. Her skirt rides up and Jungkook can feel her skin at his fingertips. He grabs the hem of her skirt, pulling it down before his hands are back at her hip.

“No,” her words get muffled in-between a whisper and a moan. “Touch me, please.”

Her hand rides up his shirt, nails scraping down the tout muscles of his abdomen. It does nothing to Jungkook – his dick merely reacting by instinct, but his mind is elsewhere and he wants to get out of here.

He chuckles, trying his best to ease the blow for her. “I’m feeling super drunk.”

That’s a lie.

Her hands don’t stop, continuing their little journey, fingertips inches away from the waistband of his jeans.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He says, his hands wrapping around hers and gently taking them off of his body.

She rolls her eyes, uttering a snarky, ‘whatever’ before she’s storming off.

He feels dizzy all of a sudden – the neon lights coming at him quickly, the music too loud, air too stuffed.

He finds his way out of the crowd, slightly dazed and looking for silence.

~

You’re giggling absentmindedly at your phone as you scroll through twitter. It’s been well over fifteen minutes but you’ve found comfort in your sober state and the tranquillity the small space has provided. You haven’t let go of your goal for the night, still very much feeling that sense of want even after the buzz from the alcohol and the weed wore off. But like you said, Yoongi’s never in a rush and the night is still young.

Glancing at the left-hand corner of your phone, the time reads 2:37. He can wait, you decide, as you go back to a thread titled funny pets. Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling, until…

Jungkook opens the door gently, stepping inside the space without a second thought. He’d noticed it as soon as he’d stepped foot inside the kitchen, curious as to where it led, knowing it wasn’t a bathroom or one of the two bedrooms he knew well. Silence engulfs him and he relaxes immediately, letting his shoulders drop – the tension leaving his body.

It’s short-lived, though – a bright light shining onto his face as soon as he turns around.

“Who are you?”

He recognizes your voice, body tensing all over again and eyes widening in shock. He can’t see you, the bright light blinding him and he puts a hand right in front of it, eyes squinting in pain.

“Uh…-” He begins, and it’s a mixture of that nervous stutter and your eyes finally accommodating on his face that gives it away.

“Oh. It’s… you.” You say, voice faltering slightly as you very obviously struggle at remembering his name.

He looks down at the floor, though he can’t see much as you turn the flashlight off and all that illuminates the room is a cat picture that displays on your screen.

“Jungkook.” He says, voice so faint he physically feels all the confidence he’s spent his entire life garnering evaporate right out of him.

“Yeah,” you say, uninterested but he’s not surprised. “What are you doing here?” You ponder. But before he can answer, your mind goes elsewhere. “Did Yoongi send you looking for me?”

“Yoongi- no. He didn’t.”

“Then?”

Your tone is harsh, bordering on mean – or maybe he’s a cry baby that would very much like for you to say his name the way you say Yoongi’s. Or any of his friends’ for that matter. But beyond his personal desires, he doesn’t understand it.

“Uh… I just needed a breather.”

“And your first option is the shoe box laundry room?”

Mean, again. He wishes he had the power in him to give you a snarky comment back. But he doesn’t.

“I didn’t know it was a shoe box… laundry room.” He says, growing nervous as he hears the way you let out a quiet sigh mid-sentence.

“Well, two’s a crowd.”

He’s about to apologize (for what, he doesn’t know), before you’re nearly plunging yourself from your seating position on the washing machine. You must’ve calculated wrong because you end up not so very gracefully landing on the floor – not only stepping on his foot, but also colliding with Jungkook’s body. The space is tight; too tight, and the impact of your body on his send him tumbling backwards until his back hits the door with a thud – his head following, and then, of course, you. He’d held onto your waist as an instinct, a futile attempt to steady you. You tumble forwards, hands on his shoulders and totally off balance.

You look up, grunting a little and cursing under your breath and though you can’t see much, you can make up the way he winces in pain, eyes tightly shut from banging his head against the door like that.

“Are you okay?” Your question comes off as abrupt – volume too loud for Jungkook and his aching head.

“Huh?”

“Ugh.”

You can’t explain it.

You can’t explain why he exasperates you to the point of rudeness – which, promise, you are not. He stutters his words and can’t hold eye contact and talks with a damn lisp the more you pressure him into keeping a conversation flowing. He seems spaced out all the time and even though it was your clumsiness that landed you in this position, you blame him.

You also can’t seem to explain why you can’t push yourself away from him. Or how your hands inched closer to his chest, index finger hooked inside his shirt, right over his collarbone. It makes the whole situation even more exasperating.

You squint, trying to make up his features – observing him. His eyes open suddenly, catching you in the act almost and you roll yours, narrowing them at him and that’s when you lose his gaze as he turns his face to the side. His skin feels hot under your fingertip and you can’t see it but you know he’s blushing.

Ugh.

Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh.

Ugh!

“Ugh.” You say again, straightening your body and pulling Jungkook up with you. But despite this, you don’t break the proximity – your bodies still flush to one another. Your movements make him look up at you again and when he does, you ask again, “Are you okay?” only this time you space out your words, bluntly pausing so he understands. It’s condescending.

(And hot.)

“Yeah.”

His response barely passes his lips before you’re pressing yours against them. Hard but then soft all of a sudden as you swallow a soft gasp of his, the way his chest flutters over yours hitting you straight in the stomach – a tingle almost. A feeling you wouldn’t dare call butterflies because you are not twelve, or sixteen. Or dumb, for that matter.

Jungkook’s head spins and he feels dizzy, swearing to himself he must have a concussion because there’s no way in hell you’re kissing him right now. Him. You. Your hand snakes around his neck, nails scraping softly, contrasting with the way your mouth moves against his. His hands are on your waist but he can’t seem to move them, his brain wanting nothing more than to squeeze and bring you closer, spin you around until he can press himself impossibly tight to you.

His lips give in first, mouth opening for you as your tongue glides against the plump flesh. Your tongue slides right in, sensual and slow yet filled with need. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt anyone kiss him like that before, like you’re saying more than words could ever do justice. In complete sync with your body as your hands travel upwards, tangling themselves in his locks of raven hair. He tries his best to mimic your actions, to kiss you as so you can tell that he wants this, too. He wants you – so fucking much.

You so badly want to be bored out of your mind – uninterested. To feel unsatiated with his gentle touches. With the way you can feel his thumb circling over your waist softly, and his tongue dancing with yours slowly. You wish you could say you fed your curiosity with a kiss but when he pulls away, lips forming a pout so as to make it last longer, you want more.

His eyelids flutter dreamily, heavy with something that doubles as lust but hints to something else you can’t quite put your finger on. All you know is that they move in sync with yours and it takes you about a second to give into your impulses.

Your fist closes around the soft material of his black long-sleeved shirt – it’s oversized and makes him look so boy. He’s taken aback but follows, ever so compliant, still feeling like he’s stuck in some sort of fever dream – slightly concerned, still in the concussion theory. But you’re very much real and it takes you all but two steps backwards until your back is hitting the washing machine again and you’re pushing yourself upwards, sitting back on – right where he found you.

Your legs part, tight dress hiking up but you don’t seem to care as you pull him to you once again and he falls perfectly into that space you’ve nuzzled for him in-between your thighs. His hands grip the corners of the washing machine, trying to find balance as you take him off-guard. A soft little whine passes your lips as you wrap your legs around his waist and if the head bang didn’t get him dizzy enough, this for sure did.

“You can- touch me. Please.” You don’t part your lips as the words leave you and it drives him crazy – your breath on his and the way you nod when he nods, almost eagerly.

His hands rest on your legs, a feathery touch at first but it immediately sends a wave of goosebumps traveling down your skin in a perfect domino effect. He squeezes lightly, sighing softly against your lips at the feel of your skin. His sigh turns into a hiss as your teeth close around his bottom lip, pulling backwards and letting go, not letting him catch his breath before your mouth is back on his.

He loves it. He loves your boldness that doesn’t feel aggressive. He loves the way you want him and the way you showed him, right after rolling your eyes at him. Not any less of an enigma just because his tongue was on yours, you still confused him. But he was too focused on the other things you made him feel right this second and so the thought left him.

You can feel the effect you’re starting to have on him – he kisses you with more hunger, touches you with more need, the fear fading away the more you show yourself receptive. Which you are, inevitably so, receptive to him. To the physicality of the actions you’re engaging in and to the way he sounds, and smells, and feels. It’s all overpowering your every sense and when you realize you’re not only free falling into indulgence but also doing it whilst sober, you stop dead in your tracks.

Jungkook follows right behind you, stopping too. He looks at you, half his face illuminated and the other embraced by the darkness that surrounds you. You want to see him, but not being able to makes you feel more comfortable. You don’t want him to see you, but you know he is – you can tell by the way his gaze grows soft, eyebrows falling into his face slightly and head cocking to the side a bit. He sighs and your skin feels hot, but it’s not really out of horniness or lust.

He’s about to speak, his eyes looking apologetic and you don’t think you can deal with his softness when he’s putting it in words right now, so you kiss him. You kiss him hard and you kiss him good and when your hands land on top of his, you encourage him to explore further. Someone had taken that sort of lead on him today as well, yet the way you do it does things to him that could never compare to anything he’s felt before.

Your legs lose the grip they had around his waist, instinctively parting as you lean back slightly. Breaking off the kiss, you draw your lips in-between your lips and this time when you stare, you’re back to minx. His hand inches closer to your inner thigh and he’s acting purely by instinct. Now, he’s not unfamiliar with a woman’s body, but the way you’re looking at him right now makes him feel like he’s back to square 0.

“Is this okay?” He asks, taking you by surprise.

A part of you wants to reciprocate his gentleness but you don’t allow it to show. Instead, your gaze grows lusty as you say, “You haven’t done anything for me to judge your performance, so I guess I don’t know.”

If Jungkook were to be brutally honest, he has no idea what you mean by that, but he goes with the way your hips move closer to his hand, legs parting further – eyebrow raising at him, almost tempting him to play. When his knuckle grazes right over your clit through your lacy panties, you mewl – hips circling and body jolting in anticipation.

You’re so fucking hot he has to lock his lips with yours, eyes closed to ground himself and step back into this moment because you’re making it really hard for him right now. Emphasis on the hard. You kiss him back – mouth parting when his fingers move on you. Index and middle finger circling around your entrance over your panties, then slowly teasing with feathery touches until they reach your clit, applying more pressure the more erratic your breathing gets.

“Don’t tease.” Your attempt at keeping your tone collected is laughable but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, quickly complying to your needs as his fingers hook inside the side of your panties, parting your plump folds and letting himself bask in your heat.

A moan escapes his mouth as he says, “you’re so wet.” And though his voice is shy, his touches are anything but.

“Yeah?” You ask and he nods against your mouth. “Fix it, then.”

His thumb circles your clit, swollen and pulsing even though he’s just got his hands on you seconds before. He draws figure eights against the bundle of nerves and your head draws back, face scrunched up in pleasure as soft moans escape your lips. He can tell you’re trying to control yourself and there’s something about it that doesn’t sit quite right with him. His middle and ring finger tease at your entrance for about a second and you’re dripping – wet enough for him to push two fingers inside of you. It’s skilful and immediate, the way his fingers arch, finding that spot right away – taking you so aback your legs close around his hand.

“Oh,” and when the rest of your words get caught up in your throat as a whine replaces them, his movements slow. “Keep going- like that.” You encourage and he resumes his previous pace.

Your cunt is snug around his fingers, slick juices dripping down his hand and he’s so deep he can feel them running down his wrist. Every time he hits that spot inside of you, your breath hitches in your throat, voice too frail to praise and perhaps ego, too. But your body is so telling, there’s no doubt in him he’s doing a good job. His fingers pull out of you, a lewd sound filling the room as he circles them against your clit – your wetness aiding to the feeling and allowing him to be fast, hand moving with quick precision.

“Fuck- fuck. That feels so good.”

His head drops to your shoulder, pace never faltering, fingers gliding down at your entrance, relishing in the way your little pussy clenches around nothing – already missing the fullness his digits provided. Your cheek comes flush with his, lips grazing his ear as you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling slightly. He’s moaning as if you were reciprocating his ministrations – raspy voice taking on a breathy feeling to it, hitting right against your neck.

You grab his face, making him look at you before you’re crashing your lips onto his, pulling back for a second, eyes closing as you feel your tummy contract at the feeling he’s providing.

“Fuck me with your fingers- please. Please, Jungkook.”

It’s the way you say his name, removing all sense from him and leaving him wild. A throaty moan passing his chest, leaving his mouth before he’s bringing his hand closer to his mouth, spitting on it in an obscene way that only sends you further into your impending doom. You almost don’t want it to stop – you’d let him finger fuck you inside this laundry room forever if you could. It feels that good.

His fingers dive back inside of you and you can feel the way he’s purposely stretching you, scissoring motions hitting unfamiliar spots, making you throw your head back in pleasure. He adds a third finger and it takes you aback, sending you right onto the edge much closer than you’d expected.

“Oh my- fucking God. I’m so close.”

“Yeah?”

His question is rhetorical, bordering on cocky and it makes the moment ten times more devastatingly sexy.

Jeon Jungkook is devastatingly sexy.

Jeon Jungkook with the stutters and the lisp and the ability to draw every ounce of patience out of you.

Jeon Jungkook is about to make you,

“Cum. I’m gonna cum.”

He goes deeper, harder – almost as if he’d saved the best for last as the push and pull of his fingers send flutters down your lower tummy before they turn into a whole explosion as the moan that’s sitting at the tip of your tongue comes out as a scream.

You cum around his fingers for what feels like way more seconds than you’d ever cum before. Thighs closing around his forearm, body shaking and glistening in sweat. Your juices so slick it begins to feel uncomfortable as you start coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers out of you.

“Holy- shit. What the fuck.”

Jungkook just stares at you – fully taken aback by probably one of the hottest things he’s ever seen in his entire life. All at his expense.

You’re spent. Knees trembling and hands a bit shaky and clammy as you remove your jacket and grab your forgotten bottle of Gatorade to try to restore the hydration in your body. You feel the way he gently fixes your panties, covering you up. It makes your heart seize inside your chest and you don’t only feel sober but also aware. Very aware. More aware than you’ve probably felt in your life, though you can’t quite put a finger on it.

Whatever it is, you push it to the side.

With dangerously trembling legs, you jump from where you sit on the washing machine, taking Jungkook aback as he takes a step backwards. Grabbing your phone, you turn to him, smiling – your eyes back to unreadable, nonchalant.

“That was good.” You say, almost as if you were referring to anything but the fact that he just fingered you inside a shoe box sized laundry room despite barely having exchanged any words and being pretty sure you hated him. He’s painfully hard and can’t think straight so when he doesn’t respond you give him a tight-lipped smile, lazily waving your hand at him before you say, “bye!”

And just like that, you’re gone.

Scratch that, he is pretty sure you hate him.

So, what the fuck just happened?

~

let me know if u enjoyed and if you'd like to be added to the taglist. I dont think it'll have too many parts but it's fun to write <33 I love u guys sm! xx

[jellytae]

GOD I FUCKING LOVE ANGST

reminder | jjk (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: Whenever he flies back into town, your doorbell is the first he rings. When he has to fly out again, your bed is the last he lies in. However, you’re not stupid. You know your ex-boyfriend, that also happens to be an up-and-coming professional boxer, Jeon Jungkook, doesn’t come to you only. Unfortunately, you have no right to be jealous, not when you’re the one that ended the relationship.

warnings: explicit sexual content, exes, second chance, angst, fuckboy!jk, possessiveness, jealousy, exes with benefits, boxer!jk, unprotected sex(STAY SAFE), creampie, fingering, squirting, pussy slapping, oral sex (f. rec), handjob, spanking, toxicity (a lot if it), shower sex, heterosexuals (sorry), fluff if u squint, mutual pining, sooooo much pining, minors DNI

category: two-parter

wordcount: 8.6k

a/n: ck jungkook has given me brain rot and i just had to write something about it. sorry in advance.

— m.list & concept video

part 2

Change is inevitable. Everything changes. Everyone changes. You love change, though. You don’t like clinging to things and you’re always up to try out new things. You’re the one in your friend group that’s always trying new items on a menu, always checking out random music, trying different things with your hair.

Maybe it’s because of the way you’ve grown up, always taught to move on and enjoy new things because life is short. No dwelling on the past, no asking yourself ‘why me?’, no fear of change in your life. That’s exactly how you’ve always been.

So what you don’t understand is how you allow yourself to be in this situation right now, a book you should’ve closed a long time ago.

With your face pressed into your wet sheets, back arched, bare ass in the air and lewd moans spilling from your lips as you get fucked into your mattress by the man you broke up with 2 years ago.

“Jungkook! Slow down, I’m gonna–”

You’re cut off by a harsh slap to your left asscheek, your teeth sinking into the bunched up sheets in front of your face as the stinging and warmth from the spank spreads through your skin. You yelp in pain yet pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets even tighter. You usually don’t orgasm from solely penetration but the overstimulation is causing you to physically feel every single one of your nerves electrifying in your nether regions.

“Cum, then. I’ll fuck you through as many orgasms as you want.” The pace of his merciless pounding never falters and it has you seeing every celestial body in the universe every time you blink. He grunts loudly as you start clenching around him, his hand reaching for your forearm and pulling it back to press it into your back as he continues to fuck you.

Your other hand reaches behind you, pressing flat into his lower abdomen to get him to slow down but he just swats your hand away. You attempt it for a second time and this time he grabs your wrist, bringing it next to your other arm that he’s already pressing into your back, now caging both of your arms in his grasp against your back as his hips slam into your ass.

A cry rips through your throat, eyes tightly squeezing shut as you drool into the covers. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking train, the knot in your stomach snapping and your entire body heats up as if you’ve been set on fire. Your slick walls constantly clench around Jungkook’s dick, making him grunt your name alongside a few swear words. His hips stutter in their movement, speed faltering as you continue to cry out in pleasure under him.

He curses under his breath, letting go of your arms. He presses his hands down on your ass until you’re fully lying on your stomach, face still pressed into the sheets. He never pulls out, on the contrary, he continues to fuck into you as you sob under him, the overstimulation has you squirming like a fish out of water.

There’s a pressure against your upper back, one that you quickly realize is his bare chest as he leans into your ear. “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathlessly says into your ear, a soft moan following his words and you feel his dick twitch inside of you. He’s close.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. His thrusts start getting inconsistent and sloppy.

“Jungkook,” you sob, a sniff following your cry and it’s the final thing you know he needs to get that knot in his stomach to snap. It doesn’t take long after for him to shoot his load into you, coating your walls with his cum.

He moans in your ear softly, something you swear is the single best sound on Earth. Paired with the best feeling on Earth, having Jungkook fuck the shit out of you.

After a few more lazy thrusts, continuously fucking his load into you, he comes to a full stop. His hips are still pressed into your ass and his forehead is pressed against your shoulder.

•••

2 hours ago

You’re scrubbing the last of your dirty cutlery with your soapy sponge when you hear 3 soft knocks on your front door.

It’s him.

You glance at the clock that’s hung up on the wall in your kitchen, your hands automatically reaching for the kitchen towel that you slung over your shoulder when you started washing your dishes. 10:45PM. You dry your hands and neatly drape the damp kitchen towel back over the cupboard’s handle before heading into the hallway.

You peek through the peephole but it’s blackened out, already knowing who it is with the way he always presses his thumb into your peephole to keep you from seeing him. You fight the smile that’s trying to force its way onto your lips as you reach for your keys.

With a sigh, you slowly unlock your front door. Your hand pulls on the door handle, creating a bigger gap and allowing yourself to be seen as your eyes make contact with his big brown ones and his sheepish smile.

There’s a cut on his cheekbone, bags under his eyes, his long black locks pulled back into a small bun. The layers that are too short to fit into the bun frame his face so perfectly, kissing the top of his brows and tickling his temples.

Still as gorgeous as ever.

He’s wearing a black shirt and grey sweats, and he’s got luggage with him, he probably came here straight from the airport. He must be absolutely exhausted. Or at least jetlagged.

You cross your arms, closing your cardigan around your torso in the process. “You’re back.” It’s all you can say, really. It’s all you ever say when he’s suddenly in front of your front door every few days or weeks.

Like it’s become some kind of inside joke, an inside joke just for the two of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he says without any hesitation right after the words leave your mouth. He always replies with these exact words but it catches you off guard every single time.

He doesn’t wait for you to invite him in, he knows you’ll let him. Like you always have. Like you always do. Like you always will.

He struts in, kicking his shoes off his feet but neatly placing them by the door next to his luggage before returning his attention to you, his big hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you closer. You lean back a bit to glance up at him, your thumb gently grazing the cut on his cheekbone.

He doesn’t react, just stares at you as he lets you do whatever you want. He’ll always let you do whatever you want.

Because it’s no secret that Jungkook is still in love with you.

“Does it hurt?” you ask softly, bringing the same thumb down to rub his bottom lip, peeking at him through your pretty lashes.

He shakes his head, parting his lips as he takes your thumb into his mouth and slowly circles the tip of your thumb with his warm tongue.

“You must be hungry if you came here straight from the airport. I just made some pasta, you want some?” You move your other hand up to brush some of his hair out of his face.

“Hm, I can have you for dinner as well.”

You roll your eyes and take the opportunity to take your thumb out of his mouth and pry his hands off your waist to head into the kitchen. He huffs but quickly follows you, trailing behind you like a stray kitten.

•••

With your empty dinner plates in front of you, your conversation goes on. He’s just staring at you, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. It makes him look like a bunny.

“How long are you staying in town this time?” you question, already assuming since he usually stays a week or 2 before he flies out again.

“5 days.” His answer is almost immediate, like he knew you were going to ask that question. It’s only natural, though, you usually ask him that.

“How was Paris?” you ask as you reach for your glass of water and bring it to your lips, keeping eye contact with him over the rim of your glass.

“It was good.” He leans back into his chair, rubbing his stomach which he always does after dinner. “Cold, though.”

“Yeah? I bet some lucky ladies kept you warm, no?” you tease, knowing he hates talking about that with you. You watch as he cringes, adjusting in his seat as he sits straight up.

He glances at you for a moment with a slight frown on his face and then rises to his feet, gathering the dirty plates and utensils before heading into the kitchen. You’re used to him completely ignoring questions like that.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you momentarily look out the window. You’ve always pushed him to try new things like you do, that includes moving on from you.

He simply refuses.

You need him to move on from you so you can move on from him. It’s that simple. But every single time he stands before you, it’s like he sucks all the strength to turn him down out of your body.

The water runs and you hear the clatter of dishes, assuming he’s washing them. You get up and clean the table before walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his back.

He dries his hands with your kitchen towel and turns around in your arms, cupping your face delicately, his pretty brown eyes scanning your features.

“Will you let me kiss you?” he quietly asks, thumb rubbing back and forth on your cheek.

He always asks this when you see him again. You always agree.

Your eyes shift from his left eye to his right consistently, a look of contemplation on your face. You both know that you really, really want him to, though.

Does he kiss the other women too? Does he caress their faces like he does you? Hold them so gently?

With a curt nod of your head, he finally leans down and presses his lips to yours. With your chin tilted up to meet his lips, your eyelids flutter close instantly, your heart rate picking up whilst a bubbling heat spreads through your body, starting in your stomach and growing all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes.

His lips were made to be on top of yours.

His kiss gets a bit needier, his hands holding your face so gently yet so firm, as if he’s scared to let you go. He tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, a soft muffled sound resounding in your throat.

The wet muscle you feel poking your lip doesn’t go unnoticed by you and you happily welcome his tongue, letting him lick into your mouth. By now his kiss has gotten heavy, tongue ready to devour you and swallow you whole.

With your hands still on his waist, you squeeze him gently, wanting to feel more of him. Needing to feel more of him.

After a few more minutes of passionate making out, he pulls back and deeply inhales. He’s still holding your face, tilting it even more to make you look up at him. “Will you let me fuck you?”

He always asks this when you see him again. You always agree.

Your heart jolts in your chest at the unexpectedly expected words. If the making out didn’t already leave you soaking, those words surely did.

You quickly nod to his question. As if you’d ever decline. He drops his hands, moving one to wrap around your wrist as he starts leading you toward your bedroom.

He sneaks his arm around your waist and pushes you toward your bed again, slowly letting you down onto your mattress. You reach for your pyjama shorts and yank them down, leaving you in your tank top and panties.

He drops down onto his knees in front of the bed, dragging you to the edge of your mattress by your thighs. You softly gasp at the sudden force pulling you, propping yourself up on your elbows as you set your gaze on him between your thighs, intently.

He takes his time, bringing his index finger to your clothed sex to gently rub all over your slit. Your hips jolt up like they’ve got a mind of their own but Jungkook presses you down by your lower stomach with one hand, shaking his head.

“Let me take my time, baby. You know I’ve missed this pussy.”

The moment those words leave his mouth, you let yourself fall back on your mattress. You’re sprawled on your bed with your ex-boyfriend in between your thighs and if you told yourself at 16 that this is who you were going to be when you grow up, that girl would’ve laughed at you.

Because you don’t dwell. You don’t go back. You don’t cling to the past.

But all those thoughts instantly disappear like fog in your head the moment Jungkook presses a kiss to your clit through your panties. A soft gasp leaves your lips, your fingers tucking under the hem of your panties as you try to yank them off.

He simply chuckles as he allows you to take them off, his eyes glued to your glistening sex. He wastes no time latching his tongue onto your wetness, licking a thick stripe up your slit before wrapping his lips around your pulsating clit. He hums in delight at the taste of you.

A cry falls from your lips, your fingers making their way to the top of his skull. You tug on the loose strands that frame his perfect face so well as you grind into his mouth.

“Hm, missed me?” he purrs, pressing you back down by pushing on your pelvic bone. He slides his hands up the back of your thighs from your ass to the back of your knees, pushing them back as he continues to devour you.

Soft moans spill from your lips as you arch your back off the bed, toes curling at the sensation of your clit being sucked on with so much fervor. “Jungkook!” you cry, pressing your palms into your eyes to try and keep yourself from bursting into tears at the pleasure.

He simply hums against your sex, dark eyes peeking up at you. His tongue slides down your slit, teasing your hole before licking back up to your clit. “There’s nothing better than the taste of this pussy,” he mumbles before wrapping his lips around your clit again, gently sucking on it.

A soft moan bubbles up the back of your throat, leaving your lips which makes him smirk against your skin. “Hm, even better than your little girlfriends?” you tease. You always use the words ‘little girlfriends’ to refer to all the girls in the city he fucks besides you, all the girls he fucks overseas, all the girls he fucks that aren’t you.

He peeks up at you again, this time a frown on his brows. You steal a glance at him when you sense him looking at you, a sheepish smile on your face. He pulls back and wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand as he lets go of your legs and rises to his feet.

You eternally groan at the fact that made him stop fucking you with his mouth but the show he’s giving you as he removes his shirt almost makes you thankful that he did.

“Yeah. And I fucked a bunch of ‘em in Paris,” he replies as he tugs his sweatpants down his legs, kicking them somewhere across the floor.

The slight raise in your eyebrows shows that you’re surprised. Jungkook never comments on your attempts at provoking him and mentions of other women.

You just shot yourself in the foot because you really, really don’t want to imagine him fucking someone else. You usually bring it up to provoke him and he usually dismisses it but this time, he puts a vivid image in your head and you don’t like it.

You huff as you sit up on your bed, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His response is immediate, his hand reaching for the hem of your tank top. You let him pull it off your body and allow him to ogle at your breasts.

He tosses your tank top at the growing pile of clothes on your floor before licking his thumb and bringing it to one of your nipples, rubbing circles around it with his wet thumb.

You sigh at the stimulation, “Were they good?” You can’t help but ask him this question, your voice coming out a bit choked but he doesn’t comment on it.

“They were fucking great.”

You almost bite a piece off your tongue, the entity that’s called Jealousy menacingly looming over your body and ready to devour you whole. You know you always provoke him but you only do it because he never responds.

You don’t comment further, you just reach for the hem of his boxers but he stops you. He swats your hands away and pushes you further back onto your mattress, so you scoot back whilst still sitting up right. He climbs into your bed next to you, sitting down on his ankles as he leans over you.

You place your hands behind you, leaning back on them as you glance up at him. He’s staring down at you, hand sliding up and down your thigh. With a little pressure, he spreads your thighs further apart and his fingers find their way back to your sex.

You grunt once his fingers make contact with your clit again, a tiny shiver running down your legs. You bend your legs at the knees, placing your feet on the edge of your bed and spreading your thighs further, still looking up at Jungkook who is staring you down like he wants to absolutely ruin you.

The tips of his middle and ring finger start rubbing consistent circles onto your pussy and you scrunch your eyebrows together, mouth falling open.

“Whose pussy is this?” he murmurs, fingers sliding down your slit and rubbing in between your folds. You moan softly at the sensation, thighs jerking in the process.

You quip, “Mine.” You know that’s not the answer he’s looking for, especially with the way his eyes narrow at you.

“Mad because I finally answered your stupid questions for once?” he scoffs, fingers sliding straight into you which earns a surprised gasp from you.

Your eyebrows scrunch together even more, your mouth still agape and your big eyes pleading for more. It’s the face you know Jungkook can’t resist, he usually kisses you right away.

But this time, he doesn’t. He doesn’t kiss you. He just stares you down as his hand starts slamming into your sex, fingers rubbing against your slick walls with each movement.

The lewd sound of your wetness almost embarrasses you but your mind is too clouded, his lustful eyes never leaving yours.

Before you can fathom what just happened, you yelp out in painful pleasure. Jungkook has retreated his fingers and brought his palm down with a slap to your wet pussy, making your legs jerk and your hands reach up to grab at his biceps.

“Ah!” you cry out at the sudden impact, your nose warming up and you know you’re about to start tearing up.

“I asked you a question.” His voice resounds inside your head, it almost makes the return of his fingers inside of you go unnoticed by you.

He fucks his fingers into you, palm slamming down on your clit whilst his fingers thrust in and out of you.

Moans spill from your throat as you hold onto his neck now, eyes squeezing shut at the delicious torture on your sex.

“Answer me, Y/N.”

You cry out when he slaps your pussy once again, your hips jolting under him but he pushes you down by your lower abdomen. He enters his fingers again, palm still continuously slamming down on your clit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage to say without sobbing, the pleasure he’s giving you is making you dizzy.

“Bullshit,” he grunts, picking up the pace of his hand.

You want to pull his face closer by tugging on his neck but he doesn’t budge, his hand adamant on making you cum and it’s succeeding.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, clenching around his fingers with your eyes shut tightly. You wince when he pulls his fingers out but you have no time to react when he suddenly rubs all 4 fingers in a waving motion against your clit at an incomprehensible speed.

You cry out again, squirming under him when a different kind of knot in your stomach snaps. You open your eyes just in time to watch yourself squirt all over his hand, all over your sheets, all over your floor.

All the strength in your body dissolves and you fall back against your mattress, the sensation of squirting all over your mattress still going as you writhe under him.

His torture never stops, the demonic speed in which he assaults your clit is enough to have tears bursting out of your eyesockets and the longer he keeps going, the more you keep squirting. “You gonna answer or want me to keep going?

His name falls out of your mouth in a series of sobs, “Fuck–! Yeah, I’m mad!” you admit, pushing against his arm to try and get him to finally stop.

And he does, he pulls his hand away. He takes a while to just stare you down and if you weren’t already, you’d describe the feeling as feeling naked under him.

“So then why do you keep asking me if you know you’ll get mad?” he asks as he starts tugging his boxers down, allowing his erection to spring free. He kicks his underwear off the bed as he uses his wet hand to pump himself, essentially lubing himself up with your slick.

Not that you’d need any type of lube now, you are completely and disgustingly soaked.

You’re still on your back, trying to catch your breath when his hand slips under the back of your knee. He spreads you for him again and circles his tip all around your sensitive sex.

“Jungkook,” you warn, the effects of overstimulation making anything you say sound like a pathetic cry.

“Shhh, I know.” He pushes into you and usually circles your clit with his thumb but he doesn’t this time, for obvious reasons. You’re grateful, though. Jungkook can get pretty rough with his so-called punishments – that are absolutely sublime – but you don’t think you could take any more clit stimulation now.

He places his hands on either side of your head and leans forward, his silver chain dangling in your face. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before he pulls away to watch your face as his hips start slamming into you.

You sob his name, legs falling limb after an attempt at wrapping them around his waist. He leans down and presses his lips to your cheeks, softly kissing your tears away.

You sniffle, enjoying his proximity as he continues to fuck into you. Soft moans escape his throat too and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world. He sounds angelic. His lips retreat from your face in the meantime as he watches your face, a look of admiration on his.

“Do you kiss them as well?” you quietly whimper, sincerity in your eyes instead of the usual teaseful look.

He observes you for a moment longer, gaze dropping to your lips quickly before returning to your eyes.

You’d tease Jungkook about being with other women, something he hated and he never took the bait, and in the two years after your break up of the two of you casually having sex whenever he’s back in town, you’d never crossed the emotional territory. Because you had always taught yourself to move on, to not dwell, to not beat yourself up.

But with Jungkook, it’s just inexplicable. You want him, you need him, you breathe him.

You didn’t expect this time to be so emotional. So raw. So unchanged.

“Would kissing be worse than fucking?” he asks, dragging you out of your thoughts. You try to fight the quiver in your bottom lip but you can’t help it, your hands wrapping around each of his wrists that are caging your head in between them.

You turn your head to look away from his overwhelming gaze, pressing your lips to the side of his arm.

Out of the blue, he picks up the pace and starts fucking into you again. Several moans and cries fall from your lips, muffled by the skin of his arm. You sense his eyes on you from your peripherals but you don’t return the eye contact, you can’t. You might burst into tears. And this time it won’t be from pleasure.

He takes the opportunity to press his lips to your neck, kissing the skin under your earlobe and making his way down.

The words ‘I love you’ are stuck in your throat, threatening to blurt out. With all the strength you can gather, you swallow them down, squeezing your eyes shut tightly.

“No one will ever compare to you.” His voice is muffled from kissing your skin but you can hear him loud and clear, aside from the skin slapping and the wet sounds from your pussy being pummeled by his hips.

You shake your head in response to him, not wanting to hear that at this moment. You’ll just fall in love with him all over again and you’d rather die, you’d much rather die.

“Shut up,” you mumble after another sniffle, turning your head to face him again. He takes his lips off your throat, letting his gaze drape all over you again and it makes you feel so small.

His thrusts come to an abrupt halt, making you wince. In one swift motion, he pulls out of you with a grunt. He sits back on his ankles and gently – yet with a firm grip – turns you around onto your stomach. His hands return to your body with a tight grip around your hips, yanking your ass up into the air.

“You want to know how I fuck them? I’ll show you,” he says breathlessly as he shoves himself right back into your wetness, fingers sinking into your skin as he pounds his hips into your ass and the back of your thighs.

This is how he fucked you when you’d have an argument back when you were together, when he was mad at you, when you were acting up. He would say he didn’t want those eyes of yours looking up at him if he was fucking you with no emotion, with no warmth, with no love.

This is his way of answering your annoying questions, you suppose.

You mewl under him, your hands gripping the soaking sheets tightly to support yourself from the momentum of his thrusts. A low grunt rumbles in his chest when you clench your walls around him. His speed is almost demonic at this point, your body being sent into overdrive as your stomach tightens again.

“Jungkook! Slow down, I’m gonna–”

You’re cut off by a harsh slap to your left asscheek, your teeth sinking into the bunched up sheets in front of your face as the stinging and warmth from the spank spreads through your skin. You yelp in pain yet pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets even tighter. You usually don’t orgasm from solely penetration but the overstimulation is causing you to physically feel every single one of your nerves electrifying in your nether regions.

“Cum, then. I’ll fuck you through as many orgasms as you want.” The pace of his merciless pounding never falters and it has you seeing every celestial body in the universe every time you blink. He grunts loudly as you start clenching around him, his hand reaching for your forearm and pulling it back to press it into your back as he continues to fuck you.

Your other hand reaches behind you, pressing flat into his lower abdomen to get him to slow down but he just swats your hand away. You attempt it for a second time and this time he grabs your wrist, bringing it next to your other arm that he’s already pressing into your back, now caging both of your arms in his grasp against your back as his hips slam into your ass.

A cry rips through your throat, eyes tightly squeezing shut as you drool into the covers. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking train, the knot in your stomach snapping and your entire body heats up as if you’ve been set on fire. Your slick walls constantly clench around Jungkook’s dick, making him grunt your name alongside a few swear words. His hips stutter in their movement, speed faltering as you continue to cry out in pleasure under him.

He curses under his breath, letting go of your arms. He presses his hands down on your ass until you’re fully lying on your stomach, face still pressed into the sheets. He never pulls out, on the contrary, he continues to fuck into you as you sob under him, the overstimulation has you squirming like a fish out of water.

There’s a pressure against your upper back, one that you quickly realize is his bare chest as he leans into your ear. “I’ve missed you so much,” he breathlessly says into your ear, a soft moan following his words and you feel his dick twitch inside of you. He’s close.

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. His thrusts start getting inconsistent and sloppy.

“Jungkook,” you sob, a sniff following your cry and it’s the final thing you know he needs to get that knot in his stomach to snap. It doesn’t take long after for him to shoot his load into you, coating your walls with his seed.

He moans in your ear softly, something you swear is the single best sound on Earth. Paired with the best feeling on Earth, having Jungkook fuck the shit out of you.

After a few more lazy thrusts, continuously fucking his load into you, he comes to a full stop. His hips are still pressed into your ass and his forehead is pressed against your shoulder.

He pulls out and collapses onto your mattress, right next to your body. You crack one of your eyes open to peek at him. He’s on his back, the back of his hand pressed into his forehead with his eyes shut tight as he’s focused on steadying his breath.

You stare at him for a moment, captivated by his utter beauty. Your eyes trail the bridge of his nose, his pretty black lashes, his red cheeks and swollen lips. The thin layer of sweat makes him look like he’s covered in glitter, his cheeks glistening like a glazed donut, the pretty moles on his face making his soft skin look like a starry night sky.

The small cut on his cheekbone doesn’t go unnoticed by you, of course. The wound has seemingly healed but the skin around it is still purple and has some traces of yellow too. He’s way too beautiful to be fighting for a living.

You quickly avert your eyes when he opens his eyes again, staring straight at you as if he sensed you staring at him. You clear your throat awkwardly as you slowly turn onto your other side, giving him your cold back.

A finger starts drawing patterns on the bare skin of your back and you’re incapable of stopping the goosebumps from popping out of your skin. The mattress dips, telling you he’s scooting closer until he’s completely pressed up into your back.

He places his lips on your shoulder blade, not moving them, not kissing your shoulder. Just keeping them there, like they belong there, like they’re magnetized.

Neither of you say anything.

Nothing has to be said. You just enjoy the moment.

Because you know once he walks out your front door, you won’t see him until the day he has to catch another flight.

You know where he goes, you know what he does, you know how he spends the nights when he’s not with you.

He just showed you.

And you have no right to feel any way about it. You broke his heart.

Shattered his heart into so many pieces that you’re still the first one he sees when he’s back in town, you’re still the only one he actually lies with.

You’re the only one.

But you’re also not the only one.

•••

You stir, eyes fluttering open in the darkness of your room. It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and recognize your surroundings. It’s then when you notice Jungkook’s tattooed arm lazily slung around your waist. Soft puffs leave his mouth, his breathing slow and very quiet snores fill up the room.

You silently reach for your phone, turning the screen to you and almost being blinded by the light of your phone. You squint as you try to figure out what time it is. 6:01AM.

You’re startled by the sudden jerk of his arm and you realize he’s waking up. With a turn of your head, you glance at him. He peeks at you through one eye, a sheepish smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” you start, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shakes his head, his lips puckered as he leans into your face. He places his lips on your jaw, softly kissing down your neck which awakens the goosebumps on the upper layer of your skin.

You squirm once his breath hits your neck. “That tickles,” you giggle as you scoot away from him but he doesn’t let you get too far, quickly climbing on top of you.

You turn onto your back, tired eyes staring up at him, his beautiful hair falling forward which frames his face beautifully. It’s now that you’re reminded you’re both still naked and it makes your cheeks instantly heat up. Not because you’re embarrassed but because Jungkook’s body is temptation itself.

His muscles are soft and squishy now that they’re not flexed but you know how tight and hard his body really is. Your eyes trail the contours of his pecs and biceps, at least what you can make out in the dark.

His black locks must’ve escaped the elastic that kept his hair together in a bun whilst he was sleeping. Your hands automatically reach up, running your fingers through his beautiful hair to push it out of his face. “It’s getting quite long, hm?” you muse, ruffling through it in the meantime.

He lets you, of course, a soft chuckle leaving his throat as you play with his hair.

“You don’t like it?” he quips, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. You can hear the attempt at making it sound like a joke but you know him well enough to know he values your opinion about him.

Your tongue slides over your teeth from left to right, fighting your smirk. “Are you crazy? I love it.” You tug the hair on the back of his head, smirking when he hisses at the grip you have on him.

He pokes your rib which makes you release his hair, a quiet yelp leaving your lips at the feeling. “What time is it?” he mumbles as he buries his face in the crook over your neck, leaving wet pecks all over your skin.

“6 in the fucking morning,” you groan as you squeeze his waist, nails grazing his skin gently, rubbing patterns on his exposed skin.

He grunts as he pulls away from your neck, rolling off of you in the meantime. Your eyes are greeted with his bare back as he sits up in your bed, your hand automatically tracing the back muscles he’s putting on display for you. “I should leave, Yoongi needs me to go take new photos for my passport,” he mumbles as he lazily rubs his face.

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of Jungkook’s coach-slash-manager, Min Yoongi. You haven’t seen him since the breakup. “Already?” you ask as you crawl toward him, “Can’t you stay a little while longer?” You press your bare chest into his back and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing soft kisses to his earlobe.

His hands automatically move up to yours on his chest, bringing one of your hands up to his lips to press a kiss to it. “I was supposed to do it yesterday because I ran into some trouble at the airport. I have to fly to Australia in a couple of days.” He peels your hands off his body and gets up, pulling you up with him.

“Let’s go take a shower, we passed out in all that shit,” he laughs as he nods towards the big wet patch, right where you squirted. You’re instantly reminded of the fact you both passed out right after that intense fuck session, you didn’t even clean up after yourself. Gross.

You wince in disgust and scrunch your nose up as you nod quickly, swinging your legs off the bed and placing your feet on the floor. You stand up and let him lead you to your bathroom, he could do it blindfolded – obviously, he used to live here.

You awkwardly wobble to the bathroom, the load he fucked into you last night threatening to spill out of you with each step you take.

You switch the lights on and let him close the door behind you, trapping you against it in between his arms. He takes this opportunity to kiss you softly, catching you off guard by the sudden affection.

You welcome his kiss nonetheless, your hands roaming all over his shoulders and squeezing his muscles. You can’t get enough of him.

He abruptly pulls away and rubs your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, something unfamiliar pooling in his dark eyes as he stares you down. He parts his lips and it looks like he’s about to say something but he doesn’t. He closes his mouth and takes a step back, turning around and reaches for the lever to let the water run before he enters the shower.

A frown climbs onto your brows but you don’t comment on it. You won’t push him to talk. You quietly follow him, simply just getting into the shower and sliding the glass door shut. You cross your arms nervously as you wait for the water to heat up.

Jungkook is already used to cold showers so he hops right under, letting the droplets of water trickle down his honey skin. You reach out to him, suddenly getting the urge to slap his buttcheek, and you do.

He grunts as he glares at you over his shoulder, his buttcheeks clenching in response. You laugh as you reach for the body wash, squirting a generous amount onto your palm before you rub your hands all over his back. It’s almost like it happens automatically, he always used to ask you if you could wash your back for him.

You rub down to his buttcheeks and he whines your name childishly, making you laugh loudly. “Come on, you know I love your booty,” you tease, reaching around his waist from the back to grope his pecs.

He throws his head back in exasperation but he can’t help but chuckle, the lukewarm water finally hitting your skin. You sigh as you hold onto him, feeling his heart drum against your palm.

It’s quiet for a moment, the sound of the water hitting your bodies and the tiles filling up your eardrums. That is, until Jungkook breaks the silence.

“Have you been with anyone?” he quietly asks. The sudden question knocks the air out of your lungs for a moment because he has never asked this before in the 2 years you’ve been broken up.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he could feel your heart thumping against his back.

“Yeah.”

Jungkook’s body tenses under your skin and it isn’t long until he turns around to face you, a blank expression on his face but he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you know how it feels knowing you’re overseas fucking other people? Even when you’re here,” you explain in a panic, heart racing as he just stares you down intently.

“You’re the one that walked out on me, Y/N.”

His words sting.

“You know why I did that, Jungkook,” you whisper, tearing your gaze away from him as you pull your arms away from him to rub your own arms in an attempt to comfort yourself.

He huffs, “Yeah, and it was bullshit.”

Your head snaps back in his direction, anger bubbling in your chest and threatening to burst out of your throat in a pathetic cry. “What’s that supposed to mean, you dickhead?”

“Exactly what you think it means.” He nonchalantly shrugs, looking away from you for a moment as he rinses the bodywash. “Breaking up with me because I was ‘gone all the time’ and had a ‘dangerous job’, but you’re still here. You still let me hold you, you still let me kiss you, you still let me fuck you.”

You scoff, pushing against his chest but he doesn’t budge. You spin on your heels and reach out to the glass door of the shower, ready to make your exit but Jungkook is quicker. He doesn’t let you.

He pulls you back by your bicep, tugging on it until your back meets his chest. “You’re not going to rob me of the little time I have with you,” he mumbles as he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Let go.”

“No.” His reply is instantaneous, arms strongly caging you in.

You blink back the tears threatening to fall, his proximity enough to calm you down yet drive you crazy. You shake your head and begin, “Jungkook, I–”

“I’ll always want you, Y/N. Just say the words.”

You freeze, breath hitching in the back of your throat. You already know this. Jungkook doesn’t shy away from telling you about his feelings and reminds you every once in a while.

Before you can let your mind wander even more, you’re turned around by his strong arms in one swift motion, both his hands moving up to cup your face.

He tilts your face to make you look at him but you stay quiet. The words he’s yearning for you to say never come.

“Kiss me,” you whimper, not able to take this silence and not in the mood for a staring competition.

He doesn’t waste any time, he instantly leans down and presses his lips against yours whilst slowly pushing you backwards until your back collides with the cold tiles.

You deepen the kiss, your hands roaming his chest as he licks into your mouth. A grunt resounds in the back of your throat at the feeling of his hand slowly making its way down your waist, to your hip, to finally your bum.

He grabs a handful of your asscheek, squeezing it and it elicits a lewd moan from you. It doesn’t take long for you to feel his growing erection inflating against your lower stomach and you reach for it.

You pump him slowly, making him grunt into your mouth. You rub your thumb all over his tip, gathering his precum and spreading it all over the head of his dick.

He pulls away from the kiss, his head dropping to your shoulder as you continue to pleasure him. His hand continues to knead your asscheek, a low swear word escaping his lips.

“Look at me,” you whisper, hand still jerking him off at a torturously slow pace.

He lifts his head off your shoulder slowly and let’s his eyes meet yours, head tilted downwards as he towers over you.

“How does it feel, knowing I did this with another man?” you ask him, a clear attempt at provoking him as you peek at him through your pretty lashes.

Something between an angry scowl and a confused frown etches onto his face and he merely grunts in response. His hand stops kneading your asscheek and before you know it, he’s turned you around, your front pressed into the tiles.

You’ve let go of his dick, hands now on each side of your breasts against the tiles in front of you. Your cheek is pressed against it as well, head turned enough to see him over your shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear about that fucking garbage,” he grunts, his hand pressed flat against the spot in between your shoulder blades as he holds you against the wall firmly.

You huff, but before you know it, his hand comes down to your asscheek in a powerful slap. It makes you jolt under his hold, a yelp ripping through your throat.

He spreads your asscheeks and slowly rubs the tip of his dick between your folds, earning a moan from you and you relax under his touch.

He pushes into you, eliciting a gasp from you at the intrusion. The delicious burn makes you arch your back more. He doesn’t really wait, he just starts slamming his hips into you, a series of cries and moans falling from your lips.

“Gonna fuck me like one of your hoes again?” you snark in between moans. Another slap to your asscheek makes you grunt and you look over your shoulder at him again.

He doesn’t even look at you, just snakes his hand around your face and drapes his palm over your mouth as he peels your face off the tiles and toward him, making you arch your back even more.

He continues to fuck angrily into you, “I fucking hate you,” he grunts, eyes glued to his dick disappearing inside of you.

You moan into his palm, eyes rolling back as the head of his dick repeatedly kisses your cervix. “Jungkook–!”

His other hand grips onto your waist, keeping you steady as he pounds into you. The strength in his hand has you seeing stars, if he put just a little more strength into it, you’re convinced he could crack your ribs.

“Come with me to Australia,” he whispers in your ear, lips softly brushing against the shell.

You close your eyes as you listen to his words. He’s often offered to take you with him, offered any way to keep seeing you, to keep being with you, to still have you.

“Please,” he whispers in desperation, the hand on your waist moving down to your sex as he furiously rubs your clit.

You cry into his hand, squirming and writhing under him but he has you under control. His thrusts never falter in speed and it has your eyes rolling back as you recognize the familiar knot in your stomach growing.

“Am gonna cum,” you whimper into his palm, but he doesn’t comment as he continues to destroy you.

He presses a kiss to the back of your ear, teeth gently nibbling on your earlobe and you slowly start losing control.

Your entire body is set alight, his hand leaving your mouth so he can listen to your pretty moans for him. Your orgasm comes to you like a punch to the gut, your eyes shutting tightly as pure bliss takes over you. You squirm under him, hips involuntarily jolting and knees buckling.

Both his hands return to your waist as he continues to fuck into you, wanting to get to his own release.

You’re fucked out, pressing your cheek against the tiles as moans continue to spill from your lips.

It doesn’t take long after for Jungkook to cum, shooting his release straight into you as he moans your name softly into your ear alongside a few swear words, which you’ve grown used to.

His thrusts get inconsistent, his breaths heavy and his grip on you loosens until he comes to a complete stop.

You stay there, mind clouded with nothing but Jungkook.

You’d considered going with him often but being on planes and having jet lag every few days wasn’t your dream, it was his. And while you would give up your life for him, you didn’t want him giving up his life for you. You know he’d start taking less fights, training, matches just to please you, to be with you, to love you.

He quietly pulls out but you don’t budge. When he notices, he takes it upon himself to clean you up, draping the showerhead over you, washing your body, your hair, his body, his hair.

The rest of the shower is quiet.

Not a single word was spoken.

•••

You both get dressed in silence, the occasional clinking of metal and ruffling of fabric being the only sounds in the room.

After he’s fully dressed and you’re back in your comfortable pajamas, you head down the corridor with him closely following behind you.

A soft exhale pushes past your lips when you unlock your front door as he puts his shoes on. You suddenly slouch, pressing your forehead against the front door. You think about the situation for a moment, the ruffling of him putting his shoes on being the only thing you hear.

“What?” he asks once he straightens his back and sees you looking out of it.

You push yourself off the door, turning to glance at him before momentarily looking away. “What are we doing, Jungkook?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is not right.” You shake your head, your hand moving up to adjust the earring in your earlobe. “Why do you keep showing up at my front door?”

You’d never asked him that before so he’s surprised, the slight raise in his eyebrows being proof of that.

His brown eyes stare you down, a look of contemplation on his face before he takes a step closer to you – making your heartbeat mess up its perfectly fine pace.

“Why do you keep opening it for me?”

He knows he’s got you, that much is clear. You’re at fault as much as he is. You know you shouldn’t keep letting him in but you do and you always will. You’ll always want him.

He reaches for the door handle but you make no effort to move out of his way, essentially letting him cage you in between him and the door.

You really don’t want him to go.

You prepare to speak, clearing your throat in hopes that your voice doesn’t give out. “I’m trying to forget about you. You know that.”

His gaze burns holes in your irises, a whimper threatening to burst from your throat at the intensity. He leans down and presses his lips to yours in a quick kiss but pulls away too quickly for you, your lips chasing his for a split second before you realize he has already pulled away.

“I will never let you forget about me.”

The words leave his mouth with a certain arrogance yet desperation before he pulls you toward him by your waist. You think he’s going to kiss you again but he’s simply pulling you out of the way, to allow himself to open the door and leave.

And he does, your sad eyes intently watching as he exits your once-shared home and closes the door behind him, luggage in hand.

— enjoyed it? you can always show your appreciation by buying me a coffee if you want ☕︎♡

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@secfir @peonynana @tatiishere @chimmychanga47 @joonwater @prettytaesworld @lauvelysong @kaitieskidmore1 @hani0407 @iheartyoons @canyon-lwt @thankyoublair @kookcobain @Thvlover7

[jellytae]

hello, my angel! congrats on your anniversary for starters hehehehe, i love you!

for the drabbles requests, could you do:

21 and 41 - smut

or

8 and 9 - fluff

thank you 🥰

velvet cherry | jjk (m.)

pairing: jungkook x reader

prompts: "call me that again." + "lay down and stay still."

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre: exes to lovers (??), agent/spy au (idk it's pretty vague but all you need to know is that their profession is smth like this!), some fluff, some angst, definitely smut

warnings: mentions of injuries, mentions of violence (gunshots, blood), mentions of death, cursing, shower sex, unprotected sex (this is fictional. don't do it irl, be smart dudes), fingering, a lil dirty talk, UNEDITED bc i'm a menace :p

word count: 5.9k

note: pauli bby!! thank you for the request hehehe. the initial idea i had for this request was different but i was watching bad and crazy (kdrama) and every time lee dong wook has an action scene i'm just sitting there in front of my laptop, full on thirsting bc 🤤🥵 and i just had to channel it into this piece!!

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Everyone is yelling, screaming. Even the force trying to shake you into consciousness practically shouting in your face. Your head feels like it’s been split into two even without all of the loud noises threatening to deafen you. Your body hurts. You’ve definitely bruised your ribs, if they aren’t already broken. Even your face, which remains unmoving, aches from the simple act of breathing.

Inhale. One, two, three…

Exhale. One, two, three…

Stay alive.

It would kind of really suck if you died right now.

Embarrassing, even.

“C’mon, c’mon, wake up! Y/N!”

Huh? You know that voice.

It feels like your eyes have been glued shut, but that voice is so familiar that your lids wrestle with weariness to get a look. It can’t be him, can it? How would he even know that you were here?

Does that mean this is heaven? Or the void, or wherever the fuck it is that people often preach about? You have never believed in an afterlife because any and all life ends after death. Your soul doesn’t enter another spiritual plane of existence; you just simply cease to exist. This has always been your stance on the matter, but now, as you listen to that voice desperately cursing out your name, you waver.

Because that’s the only way you can explain why he’s here.

Oh, so you did die?

“Y/N!”

Heaven, or the void, or wherever the fuck this is, sure is loud.

You force your eyes open despite the debilitating exhaustion eating away at you. It takes a moment for your vision to adjust to your poorly lit surroundings. From the corner of your eye, you see small fireworks erupting before their booming echoes reverberate throughout the room. The lead projectiles whiz above your head, right behind the silhouette of him hovering over you, calling for you, shielding you.

Once his face becomes your focal point, everything around you staticizes. You can’t find it in yourself to care about the screams, nor the gunshots, or even the gash in your side where a knife grazed you earlier.

Not when he’s looking at you like that. Like if you were to die, there’s not a single part of him that would hesitate to follow.

“I thought I recognized th–that voice.” You cough, feeling the cut on your lips open wider. You hadn’t noticed the metallic taste on your tongue until now. “Funny seeing you here, Jeon.”

The feeling in the pit of your stomach thickens. It could be relief, or it could be dread. The lights go out before you get a chance to decipher which one it is.

The next time you wake, you jolt upright with a gasp. 

“Ah, shit,” you instantly groan; it feels like something sharp is jabbing into your abdomen. You brush your hand over the spot to find smears of crimson on your clothes, but the wound underneath doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.

Where the fuck is it now?

Your frantic eyes scan the room, expecting to find yourself still in that warehouse, hopelessly holding on for life while your teammates get killed one by one.

But you aren’t there anymore. There aren’t bodies scattered all around you nor bloodstains splattered carelessly on peeling walls. 

No, where you are smells like jasmine and fresh cotton. It’s warm and bright, and it’s filled with framed photos of a familiar dog that you once loved even more than his owner. The couch beneath you feels like a cloud carrying you through the pearly gates.

Arguably, this seems more like heaven. Or is it a twisted version hell? It feels like a stretch that someone like you could get into heaven, if there even is one.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” His voice from behind startles you into action. You spring from the couch, or more like, you clumsily jump up only to be met with white hot pain that courses through your entire left side, and fall down onto the sofa again.

“Fuck!” you hiss through gritted teeth.

He rushes over, almost dropping the mug he was holding in his hand. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Apologetic hands help you into a proper sitting position. You don’t know why or how, but it really is him.

Jeon Jungkook, what a sight for sore eyes. 

The discomfort you feel in your body takes a backseat momentarily as you stare at him and his beautiful doe eyes, shimmering with concern though it’s now much more diluted than before. He examines the stitches on your forehead and your side, it’s been a while since he’s done this.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You snap back into reality at the sound of this.

Fuck! How could it have possibly slipped your mind?

Your words come out in an uneasy rush. “Where’s Namjoon and the others?”

Jungkook stares at you, tongue in cheek, blinking in mild disbelief. Of course the first question you ask is about your team. You haven’t changed, he sees. “They’re at the hospital. They’re fine,” he says.

You close your eyes and heave a heavy sigh, visibly relaxing at his confirmation. When you turn to him again, you ask, “Where are we?”

“My apartment.”

“Why? Why am I not at the hospital with them?”

“You don’t remember?”

The confused look on your face tells him as much.

“You woke up while they were stitching you up. Nearly made a scene and everything. You kept saying you wanted to go home, but your place was trashed so I… brought you here.”

You wonder if you had actually demanded to be brought to his place specifically, after seeing him when you were so delirious before. You wonder if he’s just sparing you the embarrassment. “Oh,” you say simply, glancing around the room. You haven’t been here in a long time, but most of the things here are still the same.

“You haven’t answered my question. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

You shrug, ignoring the throbbing pain that has dulled into a perpetual pinch in your side. “Of course I’m okay. Still alive and kicking.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow just the slightest. “You almost died tonight.”

“But I didn’t die, did I?”

“Why are you acting like it’s no big deal?”

Nostalgia washes over you in waves. You’ve had the same conversation a million times before.

“Because it isn’t that big a deal,” you say, feeling the urge to coat your words in a thick layer of bravery. “It’s not my first rodeo.”

“And that’s supposed to make it better? You could’ve died!”

“What is up your ass?” you ask jokingly, but it doesn’t sound right even to your ears. “You keep pushing it like you wanted me to die.”

Jungkook stares at you blankly, but you can tell that he’s agitated by your flippant attitude. You regret the words the very second you said them.

“That’s not funny,” he says, his voice strained.

Slightly ashamed, you look down at your hands and fiddle with your grimy fingers. “Y–yeah, I’m sorry. That was… too far.”

There’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you watch him grit his teeth and attempt to exhale a steady breath. It comes out a little shaky, a sign of his frustration. He takes a few minutes to calm his nerves while you sit there in silence, not usually tongue tied around him but even you know that what you just told him was pretty fucked up. 

Finally, Jungkook says, “Get some rest. You had a long day.” He goes to help you up without you asking, still so considerate even when he’s trying to not be angry at you, but that’s not what you need right now.

“Can I take a shower first?” you ask.

“You just got your stitches a couple hours ago. You can shower in the morning.”

“I know. It’s… I’m covered in blood and dirt. I’d really like to wash it off.”

He looks at you as he considers it. This isn’t Jungkook’s first rodeo either. He had to deal with you countless times like this, when you’re freshly wounded but you don’t seem to give a damn about doing things that might hurt you even more.

“Suit yourself. You know where the bathroom is.”

You mutter a thanks as you let him pull you up from the cloud that he calls a couch. You could feel his eyes on you as you wobble to your desired destination, but even the short distance between his living room and bathroom proves to be a whole trek in your current condition. You’re surprised that you even made it to the hall when your legs finally gave out on you. You brace yourself against the wall, but one of Jungkook’s strong arms is already wrapped around your waist, steadying you before you could collapse.

“You should get some sleep. You can barely walk,” he urges gently.

“I feel like shit, Jeon,” you tell him. “I won’t be able to get any rest like this.”

“Y/N–”

“We both know you’re not talking me out of it. You can choose if you’re gonna help me or not, though.”

“You want me to help you… shower?”

“Will you?”

He won’t, you’re sure of this. Jungkook isn’t teasing or frivolous as you are. He doesn’t go around testing people’s patience like you do. The relationship didn’t end on bad terms, and you think he has deliberately kept it that way because you have to see each other at work so often, even though you’re assigned to different teams. You want to keep things light, to joke around with him, to essentially still be you and him minus the romance but Jungkook keeps you at arm’s length. And if you’re honest, you can’t blame him for that. That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t suck sometimes; you used to love him after all.

He looks pensive for a moment, and you don’t know why he’s even pretending to consider it when he’ll just say no anyway. You’re prepared for him to reject you and leave you to your own devices, but then–

“Fine,” Jungkook says, voice flat, eyes blank. “C’mon, I’ll help you.” It surprises you into complete stillness, wondering if the doctors and nurses fucked up when they were stitching up your head. The man in front of you raises an eyebrow when you don’t respond to him, as if he’s challenging you, which staggers you even more because he usually doesn’t entertain your outrageous ideas like this. Especially not after you parted ways.

You blink a couple of times and find your voice from where it’s stuck to the back of your throat. “Okay then. Lead the way.”

Jungkook guides you down the hall and into the bathroom. You think he’s just baiting you, challenging you back to see if you would actually be okay with hopping into the shower with your ex because even though it isn’t that scandalous of an idea to you, it is to Jungkook. You expect him to back out any second now, but once you’re standing under the warm white light of his bathroom, he asks if he could take off your clothes.

Have you underestimated him?

You nod your head, eyeing him with a smug smile tugging at the corner of your lips and a barely-there layer of underlying nervousness. His face gives nothing away. So you two are really going to do this, huh?

Jungkook peels off your bloodied shirt, careful not to let his fingers brush against your skin though they will have to in just a few minutes. He averts his gaze as he helps you step out of your clothes until you’re completely bare.

You mistake his reluctant eye contact for shyness. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” you joke.

True.

But no, that’s not the reason why he refuses to look at you.

He hated seeing you in pain, covered in bruises and cuts. It’s why the two of you broke up. You were too stubborn to quit, and he couldn’t stand watching you treat yourself like mere collateral damage, as long as you get the job done.

It wasn’t that you couldn’t take care of yourself. In a lot of ways, you’re far more capable and skilled than he is. But sometimes you can be reckless, a little too hot headed for your own good, a little too heedless of your own safety than he can handle. 

He loved that you were remarkable at what you do; it’s what drew him to you in the first place. When you used to spar together, at the beginning of your relationship, he loved that you could kick his ass so easily. Sometimes, even on his best days, he was still no match for you.

But what’s the point in dwelling? None of that matters anymore.

Jungkook takes off his own clothes then, and you resist the urge to focus on his body too much. He’s gotten even more muscular than the last time you got to see him naked. Hard pecs that are practically popping in your face, solid abs that demand to be touched… Well, this is going to be… interesting.

He tests the water first before he lets you go in. When you finally do, you sigh as the warm water rains down on your skin, enveloping you in a liquified blanket of comfort. You’re trying not to let your eyes wander, you really are.

You hum happily when he smooths the shampoo over your hair. As his fingers massage your scalp gently, a soft moan escapes your throat. The sound travels straight to his groin, making him stiffen just a little bit and poke into your thigh. You bite your bottom lip to suppress a giggle but Jungkook just clears his throat awkwardly. Getting a boner feels inappropriate in a moment like this, when you’re his ex and you had nearly died earlier tonight.

But he isn’t responsible for the way his body chooses to react, not really. You’re showering together, for fuck’s sake. Though to be fair, he has no one to blame but himself for this irrational decision.

When he lathers you up with his body wash, you decide to do it again, just to tease him. As his hands start kneading one of your breasts, you let out a slightly exaggerated moan.

He knows you’re doing it on purpose, but his dick is stupid and it hardens regardless. “Quit it,” Jungkook says.

“Quit what?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him coquettishly. You put a hand on his chest, then trails it lower to graze his defined abs. “You look like you’re enjoying it, no?”

He doesn’t answer you, choosing to focus on his task of washing you instead, as if ignoring you will make you stop whatever it is you’re doing.

You trace your fingers along his V-line until you wrap your hand around him, making him hiss as you touch him. You give him a few lazy pumps until his member is standing tall and proud, just for you.

“Y/N…” Jungkook grits his teeth and swallows thickly. The steam is suffocating him. You are suffocating him.

“You can tell me if you don’t want it.” You tilt your head up, letting your face inch closer to his until your breath fans his lips. You feel him grip your waist – an act of restraint – then quickly loosen his hands around your body as if he suddenly remembered that you’re still battered up. You brush your lips against his, just testing him. You both know a kiss would be so much more intimate than what you’re doing to him down there.

He parts his lips slightly, the temptation is getting too strong to resist. You cloud his judgment the same way the hot water encloses the room in a mystifying haze. He presses forward to capture your lips, only to feel himself completely melt against you in an instant. 

You taste like longing, like regret. Something like a needle pierces right through his heart when you give him a needy sigh, muffled by his own lips. 

He knows he shouldn’t do this, but is it a mistake? Even if it is a mistake, he can’t find it in himself to stop, now that it has already started. You’re still as alluring and captivating as ever, and he’s still the same Jungkook who always fell to his knees for you.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

“Y–you’re hurt,” Jungkook rasps. Is that the only reason? There’s no conviction behind his words and he knows you know it. If he was really against this, then he would’ve stopped you already.

“Please.” Your voice is different, desperate, when you say this. He can’t tell if you’re crying or not because of the water still glistening on your face, but it doesn’t matter. When your hand guides one of his between your legs, he squeezes his eyes shut, searching inward for that last bit of self-control that’s nowhere to be found right now. You’re so fucking slick, and as his middle finger slides through your sodden folds to find your entrance, your head falls upon his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, barely audible to you over the sound of running water. You’re hurt. He knows he should stop, but he can’t. His thumb finds your clit in no time, and nudges it the way he remembers you liked. You choke on an exhale, now grinding against his hand and gripping his biceps to keep yourself upright. He rubs you leisurely as the water cascades down your bodies. A part of him thinks he’s twisted for enjoying the quiet whimpers you let out.

“Are you sure?” he asks, both hoping for and dreading the answer you might give him.

“Yes,” you confirm. You press his hand harder against your core, as if you’re begging him to pleasure you. “Make me feel better.”

Jungkook slides two digits into you before he slants his mouth over yours, swallowing the moan that you instantly keen out. You’re wet enough that his fingers can drive in and out of you without much mercy from the get-go. He buries them in you until he’s knuckles deep, scissoring you open how he always did to prepare you for his cock.

“Fuck, Jeon,” you purr, rolling your hips to meet the thrusts of his hand. “That’s good.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, finding that spot inside of you that never fails to make your legs shake. His strong arm holds you flush against his body as he relentlessly fingers you, absolutely loving the way your juices run down the back of his hand. There’s a sense of arrogance in the way he fucks you, even though he was hesitant about it just moments ago. The quivering moans that you grace him with are fucking addicting. At least for now, he has you. Standing in his shower, begging him for release, whispering in his ear things that he hasn’t realized how much he’s missed hearing until this very second.

His fingers ram into you until your inner walls are pulsing around him and your voice hitches beautifully. “Fuck!” you cry, holding onto him as the high crashes down on you, sending shockwaves throughout your entire body. You grind down on his hand, wanting so desperately to prolong the pleasure like you’re afraid he’ll take it away from you. Jungkook would never dream of giving you anything less than what you deserve, so he maintains the momentum of his thrusts, fucking you through your orgasm even when you clench so tightly around his digits that it becomes more difficult to move. He helps you through it until your breath no longer comes out in heavy pants, until the only stars you see are the ones in his eyes.

As he withdraws his fingers, you give him a chaste kiss as if to say thank you. He doesn’t expect anything more; it’s enough that he could give you a helping hand in your time of need, make you forget about everything even if it was only for a little while.

But then you’re deepening the kiss, one hand tugging on his hair as the other finds his hard cock again. He groans against your mouth, torn between asking you to keep going and letting you stop. “You don’t have to…” he mutters, placing a hand over yours.

“I want more,” you say breathily, but somehow it sounds almost demanding. “I want you.”

He stares at you with uncertainty in his eyes. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

Your answer comes in the form of a squeeze around his length, making his eyes flutter briefly as he rests his forehead against yours. “I can always take you.”

You watch Jungkook clench his jaw before he crashes his lips onto yours, promptly slipping his tongue into your mouth to draw the neediest of moans from you just by his kiss alone. He lifts you up by the back of your thighs and cages you between the wall and his chest. Your legs wrap around his waist as he presses his body against yours, slowly grinding his cock against your throbbing heat. You whimper when his tip nudges your sensitive clit.

“I need you,” you cry out, rutting against him desperately. He hears it then – the vulnerability in your voice that you try to mask with desire – and that’s when he thinks he gets it. You’re shaken.

You were scared tonight. That’s not something that happens very often.

He was scared too. He nearly lost his mind when he heard the news that your team was ambushed. You should’ve seen his frantic state when he raced to the scene, heart speeding a thousand miles an hour at the mere thought of something happening to you. He prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that you’d be okay, that the phone call he received minutes prior was just a sick prank someone was playing on him.

“I’ve got you,” Jungkook says, diving in to kiss you again. There’s a lot more to those words than either one of you would like to admit.

You both sigh when he pushes in, and although it’s been a long while since your bodies knew one another like this, there’s barely any resistance. He fits perfectly  like you were made for each other. He’s bigger than you remember, already feeling so good inside of you that you think you could come with just a few thrusts. Instead of moving, he stays there like he wants to memorize the feeling of you, so warm around him and so inviting. 

He was always the sentimental one.

“Move,” you whine, still bossy in a moment like this. He chuckles against your mouth before trailing his lips tantalizingly slowly across your jawline and down your neck to your breasts, where he sucks on your skin harshly, marking you. His hips pull back, making you moan from the delicious glide of him along your slickened walls, before they snap forward and set a pace that has your eyes rolling backward.

“Shit, nghhh…”

It’s like no time has passed at all. Jungkook still remembers everything you like, still knows your body like the back of his hand. You feel like you’re practically transcending the limits of space and time with every thrust of his hips and every motion of his mouth. The rough way that his fingers dig into your thighs to hold you up makes it so much more heightened as his lips wrap around one of your breasts, sucking it harshly into his mouth, his tongue laving at your hardened nipple. Now that you’re finally experiencing this again, you don’t know how you could go two whole years without it.

Every part of you misses him.

No one knows how to please you like he does.

“So fucking good…” Jungkook grunts, flicking your nipple with the wet muscle of his mouth. You arch your tits further into him as moans of unfiltered pleasure fall from you. Even as he fucks you into oblivion, he’s still mindful of your injuries. Strong hands kneading your skin roughly but softening when they brush over your bruised spots.

He tries not to pay much attention to your battle scars, but how could he not? He feels them under his fingertips everywhere they go. Some are from before you met him, some from after. Some he doesn’t recognize because you must have acquired them during your time apart. He always hated them. You used to tell him that you wore your scars proudly, that they are proof that you survived every horrible thing you’ve had to face.

That’s certainly one way of looking at it, but Jungkook hated them then and he hates them now. Not because he thought they made you ugly – no, nothing could make him see you as anything less than the most beautiful person he has ever laid his eyes upon – but because they remind him of all the times that you have had to suffer. They made him feel unworthy of you, for not being there to keep you safe.

But not like you would have let him anyway.

“Ah, fuck, Koo…”

His hips stutter in surprise. He’s not sure if you did it on purpose, or if it just slipped out in the heat of the moment.

“Call me that again,” Jungkook tells you. It doesn’t matter that the simple nickname brings up feelings he’s been trying so hard to suppress. It doesn’t matter that those feelings are damn close to spilling over the confines of his wretched little heart, that it will fucking hurt later when you leave He just needs to hear you say it again.

“Koo, fuck! Right there, keep doing that…”

He tears his mouth away from your chest to come up and chase your lips. His tongue slips inside to dance with yours, so much more intimate than it is dirty that it makes you dizzy beyond nostalgia. In a split second of weakness, it makes your heart want to be his once more. His thrusts are now even faster than before, harder and more calculated.

He pulls back enough to look at you and takes in the blissed look on your face, how your lips part when he hits your g-spot just right.  “Y/N, I…”

“I know,” you whimper, your nails digging into his back and leaving angry red trails in their wake as they drag downward. “I’m close too.”

That’s not what he was going to say. Maybe it’s a good thing that you’re too fucked out to notice it.

“C’mon, I’ve got you,” Jungkook resorts to saying. He keeps up the rhythm of his hips, determined to give you what you want the most. He’s pounding into you so impossibly deep that you can feel him in your guts, each thrust making the base of his cock grind against your aching clit. It feels so fucking good, you can’t even see straight anymore. His hand is unknowingly digging into a bruise on your leg but the pleasure is too overwhelming that you’ve stopped caring about the discomfort. This is exactly how you wanted him to fuck you – hard enough to make you forget the pain.

It hits you even harder than before. You cum with a cry of his name as your toes curl and your body shakes in his hold, stars exploding behind your eyelids when the orgasm wracks through you like an earthquake. Jungkook’s hips never cease their movements, fucking into you until you find enough strength to squeeze your walls around him and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss. He unravels then, filling you up endlessly with his warmth that you’re sure you’ll feel for days.

You stay like that for a while, just holding each other, until he softens inside of you and you feel your releases drip down your thighs and onto the floor. The water promptly washes away the remnants of your heated session. When he slips out and helps you to your feet, you want to chase it instantly – the feeling of him, with you, where he’s supposed to be.

You aren’t fully present for everything that happens afterward. As Jungkook dries you off and dresses you, he feels something tug on his heart at the sight of you in his clothes. Your tired face and the way you lean into him, trusting him to keep you steady as he prepares you for bed. Trusting him to keep you safe, to protect you.

He can’t help it.

He tilts your head up by your chin and kisses you softly. Slow. His lips are gentle, but he’s sure of himself. This isn’t the first kiss you’ve shared tonight, but in many ways, it is.

When Jungkook pulls away, he doesn’t say anything. No excuses or explanations on why he chose to do it when the lust has waned and the moment is no longer heated enough to muddle his mind. You don’t ask for anything either; you just let him lead you into his bedroom. That doesn’t mean that you don’t want him to just tell you anyway.

He tucks you into his bed as if you’re a child. When he’s sure that you’re comfortable enough, he turns to leave.

You protest immediately. “Where are you going?”

“To the couch,” he says, like it’s obvious.

You sit up in order to push yourself from the bed, erasing his previous effort of tucking you in. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch in your own home.”

“Lay down and stay still,” Jungkook sighs before pushing you back onto the mattress again. “If I stay here with you, will you please sleep in the bed?”

You purse your lips, considering this for a moment before you compromise. “Yes.”

He turns off all the lights and makes his way to the other side of the bed, getting under the covers with you. You’re disappointed when he puts a little distance between your bodies. It’s not that you expected anything to come from your brief reunion, but your heart sinks regardless. Surely, sleeping in the same bed as your ex can’t be worse than having sex with him? You’ve already done the latter, but somehow this feels so much more intimidating.

You do what you do best when you don’t want to deal with your more difficult feelings – crack lame jokes and hope they’re enough to diffuse the tension. “Why are you so stiff? Scared that I’ll fuck you? Already did that, Jeon.”

Jungkook throws you a humorless chuckle. “Was that your plan all along? To seduce me?”

“It just happened,” you say. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you even wanted it before y’know… you popped a boner.”

If the silence in the room was a little bit louder, then you could probably hear the way he pauses halfway through a breath. He doesn’t entertain you for much longer, even though it feels like he’s got something on his mind.

He doesn’t ask what this means for the two of you, if it even meant anything. What’s the point in trying if the outcome is the same? His stance on the matter hasn’t changed at all. After what happened to you tonight, it just fueled him even more. He won’t deny that his feelings for you are still there, because he’d be the first to admit that they never went away to begin with. Jungkook would try, he would try for you a million times over, but in the end, where would that lead to if you wouldn’t even try for yourself? You’ll just keep breaking his heart day in and day out, over and over again if this recklessness of yours persists.

“Go to sleep, Y/N,” he says tiredly.

You bite your lip, disheartened that he’s shutting you out again, even though he has every right to. “Okay,” you mumble.

Despite the exhaustion submerging you like a tidal wave, you can’t find rest. You were conscious for barely half a minute when Jungkook found you in that abandoned warehouse, but you could hear the panic in his voice as he tried to shake you awake. He never had to find you like that before. When you were still together, every time you got hurt, you never let anyone call him until after your wounds had already been stitched up, until you were sure that you were good enough to crack a joke once he’d rushed to the hospital.

Tonight was the first time he saw you on death’s door. You didn’t know if he even cared anymore. You were scared to think that he didn’t.

But then you heard that voice of his, and you opened your eyes just long enough to see the tears fill his eyes. You were so out of it that you thought maybe, just maybe, there was a piece of his heart that still felt something for you. Something beyond just concern for an ex lover.

You don’t know how much time has passed, with you lying there staring into darkness. “Jeon, are you asleep?” you ask quietly, only to be met with silence from his side. Nothing but his steady breathing. You want him to be awake to hear you say it, though you’re not sure how you want him to react to it. The past 2 years have been hard. Your own guilt chews you up and spits you out every single day. The breakup was your fault, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just Jungkook who repeatedly expressed concerns for your safety. Your parents never wanted you to go into this line of work in the first place.

You were too selfish to really consider anyone but yourself. You and Jungkook both do the same thing – you go out and risk your lives every day. But back then, you didn’t understand why you should be the one to stop. Why not him? Why just you?

The difference between the two of you is clear as day. Jungkook knows when to stop, and you don’t. He wanted to be able to make it back home to you more than he wanted to catch a bad guy. He put you first. He put the people who loved him first.

“I think I’m going to quit.”

Your chest feels so much lighter as soon as the words leave your mouth. Something evaporates from within you, a burden that’s finally been lifted, and that’s how you know it’s the right decision. You aren’t doing it just for everyone who loves you but is terrified for your life all the time. You aren’t doing it just for Jungkook. You’re doing it for yourself too.

Peace finally finds you then, as though it’s been waiting for you this entire time.

You don’t mind that Jungkook is already asleep. You said it, and admitting to yourself that maybe it’s time to stop, is good enough. Having that conversation with him in the morning won’t be late. You’re already halfway to dreamland when you feel him right behind you, enveloping you in a warmth that’s so distinctly Jungkook. He carefully wraps an arm around you and pulls you close to his chest, close enough that it feels like his heart is beating right into yours. He sighs, like he’s wholly relieved too.

You can’t discern what he says next, but you can feel the kiss he presses against your hair.

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 11.01.23]

[jellytae]

havent read in a hot min but this was GREATTT i miss u jimlingsss

Fall in Hatred

➜ Words: 20k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Crack, Some Angst, Marriage!AU, Divorce!AU (kind of)

➜ Summary: You and Jin are over. When you’d rather stay with the spider that’s set up shop in the bathroom (and who’s become your new pet) than with your ‘husband’ in the living room, you know things aren’t good. But when your entire, overbearing family gathers at the summer house and you’re forced to drag him along, escaping from him isn’t so easy anymore. And maybe…just maybe…you’ll have a change of heart.

➜ Warnings: Discussions and themes of divorce, lots and lots of arguing (some of which are light-hearted and others which are more intense). Also some sappiness that might be too cheesy, but fight me.

Cr.

Keep reading

[jellytae]

How I Love You | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: established relationship au, (former author) husband nj; angst, fluff, smut

Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, (sort of) manipulative parent, relationship issues, (diffuculty of) pregnancy talk, sexual content (fingering, breast play, thigh grinding, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 28.3k

Summary: Sometimes distance isn’t a space between two people, but cracks and crevices that build up over time. It’s what you learned after being married to Namjoon all these years. But all it takes is a trip back home and the acknowledgement of what your relationship has become, and the realization that it might be the final puncture that would make everything else break. 

A/N: No excuse, just Instagram Namjoon and being husband material. But shoutout to my philosophy professor whose lectures on love and relationships have stuck with me (even if I never actually read Max Scheler’s work), and credits to our brilliant, loveable Namjoon whose words are too beautiful not to write about. This was supposed to be part of a ‘Coming Home: Short Story Collection’ inspired by the guys going home for the holidays but… the holidays passed, my hands slipped, and this happened. I still hope you enjoy it, though!

Keep reading

[jellytae]

souvenir

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: shouldn’t this be the part where you tell him not to stay out too late?

alternatively, yoongi thinks you hate him because you don’t coddle him after a fight.

[ So Much Pining but they’re already in a relationship lol, some angst from a lil fight, yoongi likes being chased but u don’t indulge him this time, 10/10 wholesome ]

notes: a little something as i come back to writing <3 this is a new fic universe altogether and may be a slice of life series :O

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :)

Yoongi relishes in being difficult.

He’s difficult in the way that he’s stubborn for whatever it is, no matter how low he could stoop. It’s definitely a working progress, but your husband just still hasn’t shaken the urge to always have the last say.

It wasn’t a deep control thing, honestly — Yoongi just really loves pushing your buttons. 

If Yoongi could find a route to piss you off, he’d take a million little detours in the process just for you to take the cake by the end of it. When you present to him a simple yes or no question, he’d find a way to shift the topic altogether for your conversation to go absolutely nowhere.

He’s annoying, there’s really no doubt about it. It was a learning curve at first because seeing your then-boyfriend (now your husband) become snarky at you for surprisingly no reason at all wasn’t exactly the best feeling. All it took was a simple call to Jin, Yoongi’s closest friend, to make you realize that he was just being playful. Your husband being a brat to you, simply put into words, is his love language.

It’s the tiny accumulative moments where he purposely irritates you that in hindsight, it’s become oddly endearing. 

When you pick where to order take-out because Yoongi keeps saying whatever, he whines to no end once the food arrives because apparently, it’s not what he had in mind. You used to be so pissed about it that you’ll order what he wants, but nowadays, you just tell him to suck it up and put more food on his plate.

When you do all the laundry in one go (no, the colors don’t bleed together) and Yoongi insists that you do separate batches for each color that he could enumerate, you would try and appease him by pretending to separate each one. Now, all that Yoongi gets is a high-pitched sarcastic compliment for knowing all his colors.

Whatever Yoongi purposely gave you to incite a reaction, it all melted into your understanding that this was just him. You’re no longer affected by the tiny little things because weirdly enough, they no longer serve its purpose of annoying you. 

It’s just like taking care of Ginger, the spoiled little family cat you grew to take care of back in your childhood home. When she was still a kitten, she’d purposely go up your shelves, look at you in the eye before dropping an item, and you’re leaping after the orange devil to reprimand her. When she became an adult, she still had the same annoying tendencies, and yet you evolved enough not to even bat an eye when she does it now.

Yoongi being annoying to you now isn’t the same thing of him being annoying to you back then. What you used to hate, you now tolerate. What used to piss you off, now makes you endeared. When your husband pushes your buttons now, you’re reminded of how much more mischievous he used to be and the memories that came with it.

This is now your peak — there’s really nothing Yoongi could do that make you fazed anymore.

In a great bout of karma, this is Yoongi’s trough. 

You barely give him an adverse reaction nowadays and that scares him right to his core because you used to be so enthusiastic over him. There’d be days where he picks fights intentionally and you’d spend the whole night trying to make it up to him, even if he necessarily wasn’t in the right.

Yoongi thinks that he’s witnessing himself being old news right in front of you and it scares him. 

You’re more well-versed when it comes to this. You’re the more attentive, more vocal lover between the two of you. You’re the one who can read minds and interpret actions. You’re the one who tends to be more confrontational and he’s the passive one. You’re the one who makes sure that a night wouldn’t pass without the two of you making up.

Yoongi, who thought this was the best thing he’s ever thought of until twenty minutes ago, decides to rekindle your romance by picking a fight with you.

Twenty minutes later, he’s never regretted a decision more in his life.

“I’m going out.” 

He announces as the last resort, head pounding because the fight became bigger than necessary. It’s 9 in the evening and he isn’t even dressed to be going out, his matching pajamas with you too soft and too worn to be even seen wearing while driving in the comfort of his own car.

Yoongi feels tears pricking in his eyes because clearly you laid onto him just as much as he made digs at you tonight, but what’s even more hurtful is that looking at you now, you don’t even look as startled as he is.

Maybe it’s just his mind. His silly, smooth, little mind that thinks the fight was bigger than it actually was. It was just a tiny argument about him baselessly accusing you of not putting in any effort that went off-topic for a brief second. In reality, it really was just a casual fight that most married couples have on a rare weekend but to Yoongi, it was explosive.

It was far more hurtful than he anticipated because in his eyes now, you don’t love him that much anymore.

“Okay. Go ahead,” you mumble for him to hear, putting away leftovers like any other night. You meticulously wrap the plates with cling wrap, your back turned to him when you mutter. “I hope the door hits your ass on the way out.”

“O-oh?” Yoongi backtracks when he hears your go-ahead, literally shell-shocked to see that you’re not stopping him. He wipes away his tears before you turn your neutral gaze back to him, swallowing the lump on his throat. “I’m going now. To get some air.”

“Okay, Yoongi.”

He’s done this before. There’s been fights where you tell him not to walk out on you and he complies. There’s also been fights where he walks out anyways, but you’d always tell him I love you and not to stay out too late.

He’s attempting the second option because clearly, you’re not pleading for him to talk this out and later on could the two of you get some air together.

“I’m really, really going now.”

He looks at you with shaky eyes, clearly pleading for you to indulge him by making him stay. 

You see right through him. You see right through your husband and in any other day would you just laugh this off, but tonight isn’t working for you. You were tired from work, Yoongi picked a fight with you for no reason, and you neither have the energy to tolerate nor chase him.

Every now and then, you should stop coddling Yoongi and give him exactly what he claims to want.

“Okay. Bye.”

You leave no room for any more replies, sauntering over the stairs without looking back.

Yoongi doesn’t want to look like a coward for not following through what he said so he audibly opens the door with the creak being heard all the way up the stairs. He’s not even a fourth out of the door but his bottom lip already blubbers, legs trembling from another type of chill that his pajamas can’t protect him from.

Shouldn’t this be the part where you tell him not to stay out too late?

( ♡ )

It’s 9:30 on a Saturday, Yoongi’s at a friend’s club wearing his sleeping pajamas on, drinking Pocari Sweat because crying on the way here really dehydrated him.

Yoongi is not doing well.

Jin’s originally here to survey his club at a peak night, but that plan went downhill as soon as Yoongi spotted him and immediately clung to his back asking for electrolyte water.

“Call Y/N using my phone.”

Yoongi mumbles when the two of them are settled at a secluded booth, all the noise being significantly decreased but not enough for it to be unrecognizable that he’s at a club through a phone call.

“And why exactly would I do that?” Jin snorts, already having an inkling to know where this is going from having a quick run-down from your husband himself.

He’s just about to lecture him with the words he’s always been wanting to say; something along the words that Yoongi’s bratty tendencies were eventually gonna bite him in the ass hard.

Seokjin doesn’t get to do that though because a phone is thrust to his face that it almost punches him, making him faux spit into nothing and wave off his bodyguards standing at a distance from him.

“Quick. She’s probably worried sick about me!” Yoongi convinces Jin, or atleast tries to because he’s the one that needs it. You’re probably wondering where he is, right? There may be no texts in his inbox, but who’s to say that you’re telepathically texting him to ask what time he’s coming home… right?

“No she’s not,” he sing-songs. He plans to annoy his friend for about 98% the time he’s going to be here (he’s gonna send him home to you anyway before 10:30) and the other 2% for semi-sincere consoling.

Then an idea pops into Jin’s head.

“What should I say?” he suddenly and eagerly takes up Yoongi on his request, not waiting for an answer before the perfect scenario pops in his head. “Ah wait, let me be in charge of that.”

Jin’s already pressing to call you much faster to Yoongi’s expectations because he really thought that it would take more amounts of convincing to do this. The phone’s put on speaker and as soon as it rings, Yoongi feels the urge to duck. He’s steadily about to snatch his phone back but you answer your phone even faster than he could do that.

“Hi Y/N!” Seokjin beams and it makes you smile from the other end, a clue already being filled in your head where exactly your husband went to. “Whatcha doing?” 

Jin makes conversation with you on Yoongi’s phone, sleazily smiling as he takes it off of speaker as soon as his friend hears your voice. Yoongi clearly takes an outrage with that but he contains it when Jin fully extends his arm out, holding him back by the face.

“Ugh, did you make popcorn? No way, not one burnt kernel? I knew it-!” Jin yelps when Yoongi bites his palm, quickly standing up from his seat in the booth so Yoongi couldn’t catch up with him. “I told you- I told you that brand’s way better!” 

“She’s not asking why you’re using my phone?” Yoongi whisper-yells as he circles around Seokjin, hands anxiously attempting to grab his phone back. “She’s not asking about me?”

Jin hears him loud and clear but he pretends not to, only sparing a glance. “Did you use the microwave preset? Personally I recommend only popping it in for two minutes and fifteen seconds because- motherfucker!”

Yoongi pinches him by the nape quite harshly like how you’d do with a kitten and it makes Jin freeze for a brief second, stealing his phone back with the call on-going.

“Y/N!” he almost yells to the phone, the momentary silence making it sink to him that he’s finally talking to you after so long. 

Read: it has only been forty minutes.

“What?” you groan into the phone, pushing your voice to be further disinterested. You’re no longer mad at him anymore — you’re just having some bit of fun at this point.

“I-I...” the words dissolve quickly on his tongue, the taste being bitter once again even when he was certain that the Pocari washed it out earlier. Yoongi says the next best thing he could that first pops up into his head, the random blurting of words being amusing even for Jin’s bodyguards.

“I uhm, I have a splinter.”

“Then take it out.”

“It hurts,” he whines at another attempt, screwing his eyes shut at the secondhand embarrassment because from the corner of his eye, one of the three bodyguards is actually clutching at his stomach from laughing. 

“Have Jin do it for you then.”

“Jin and I are in the club, by the way!” he reminds you, perking up slightly now that you indirectly acknowledged where he is and who he’s with.

“Mhmm.”

Just one last pathetic attempt of skirting around and if it doesn’t work, Yoongi will immediately come home to you.

“Is the popcorn good?” 

Read: it doesn’t work.

Jin steals his phone back before he could even hear your response to his dumb-witted question, getting a painful run-down from his friend instead. “You’re painful to watch, y’know that?”

He sighs disappointedly at Yoongi, rolling his eyes before pressing the phone to his ear. “So? What’s it taste like? It’s not really oily, I told you already. The cheese doesn’t smell obnoxious either. Because actually — exactly! It doesn’t stain your fingers!”

Yoongi… will lose it. But before he loses it completely, he gathers all his remaining sanity to continue your tradition while Jin keeps you preoccupied. He spots two things quickly and puts it into his arms with no semblance of shame, even if Jin’s bodyguards saw him technically shoplifting. Yoongi thinks it doesn’t count as such because Jin already knows about the tradition between the two of you, and as predicted, his friend just waves him off in acknowledgement.

It’s a tiny tradition.

Whenever one of you goes somewhere without the other, it’s a rule to bring back a souvenir. There’s no specifications to it, just whatever item you could bring back as proof that you thought about the other while you were out.

Some of the souvenirs you brought home to Yoongi: a pretty rock, a duvet cover, a liter of hand sanitizer, a designer card wallet, and a scrunchie with his name embroidered on it.

Some of the souvenirs Yoongi brought home to you: a fancy teaspoon, a hotel pillow, ten perfume testers at the same time, a remote holder, and a teddy bear with his voice as its squeezable heart.

Yoongi thinks that he doesn’t have shoplifting tendencies but in hindsight of some of the souvenirs he’s gotten you, there may be a pattern to it.

“You brought home... a shot glass.”

You look at the tiny glass, the remnants of electrolyte water still swishing around it.

“Wrong,” he sternly replies, bringing an item from behind his back that couldn’t be anymore obvious even if he tried. “I brought home a shot glass and a tiny potted plant.”

“Since when did bars have potted plants?” you mutter in disbelief, taking the miniature bonsai from him and looking at it in wonder.

“Since tonight! Jin’s, I don’t know, entrepreneurial like that. I wanted to show it to you so I brought it home.”

Your husband says it’s like the most obvious thing to do; his desire for you to know that he indeed thought about you while he was gone manifesting into bringing home one shot glass, and one tiny bonsai to prove it.

“You stole it, Yoongs.”

The amusement lilts in your voice and Yoongi catches on to it, but he just can’t seem to let it go, a little upset that you’re focused on him “stealing” it instead of the fact that he’d go through whatever lengths for you.

“Again, I brought it home because I wanted you to see it!”

“You could’ve just sent me a picture,” you giggle, setting down the pot on your side table. You peel back the covers you momentarily left, patting the spot beside you and Yoongi clearly could not have went to bed any more eager than this.

“How was I supposed to know?” he mumbles in defeat, a frown on his face. “You probably would’ve iced me out.”

“You didn’t even ask me what time I’d get home.” 

Yoongi sighs and even if the moment’s already been significantly lightened with the souvenirs, it brings you a greater relief now that your husband’s choosing to say what’s exactly bothering him instead of pissing you off.

“You didn’t even chase me through the door! I didn’t even want to go!” he’s almost one step into a tantrum and you have to hold him by the arm to not get too carried away by reminiscing, rolling your eyes when you hold him closer.

“You went out because you thought I’d chase you.”

“Exactly,” he affirms, albeit a little upset now that he’s confirmed you knew all along. “Can’t you just chase after me?” Yoongi asks innocently, soft eyes staring you down.

The moment’s too tender that it makes your shoulders hunch, hand automatically moving to the side of his face to guide him into nuzzling into the crook of your neck — a move he looks forward to especially after tonight.

“I’m not always gonna chase after you, Yoongi,” you confide, lips brushing on his temple. “You’re just so damn stubborn sometimes. Like, makes-my-jaw-clench type of stubborn.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi sincerely apologizes, his face still buried to your neck with his arms clinging around your middle. “I guess I’m just so used to you making amends with me that it makes me act out on purpose.”

Yoongi faults himself at the end of the night this time, without your prompting, and you can’t deny that it makes your heart full.

“I’m sorry, baby.”

He lifts his head up to look at you directly, lips puffed into a pout with his eyes in slow blinks. “Yoongi’s very sorry.”

Maybe you spoke too soon. Maybe Yoongi’s just always gonna be slightly annoying.

“Did you just talk about yourself in third-person?” you mumble, eyes suddenly snapping open when it sinks into you.

“Isn’t it cuter that way? Is it working?” your husband heartily laughs, stretching his arms out to put around you and invade your personal space even more. “Why, do you feel it working?”

“I don’t know what to feel about it, that’s for sure,” you chuckle, the atmosphere completely lightened at this point.

“I promise I’ll try not to be difficult anymore. Won’t piss you off either.”

“That doesn’t happen overnight, Yoonie.” 

Yoongi’s just… mischievous. His love language was to pull stuff with you and although it keeps you on your toes more often than necessary, you wouldn’t be tired of him.

“Tell you what, promise me this instead,” you turn right when Yoongi was about to do it himself so he could bury his face to the crook of your neck again, blinking owlishly to listen at what you have to say.

“Try to chase after me too. Let me be the difficult one sometimes.” 

Yoongi smiles, the switch being more than intriguing. “M’kay. That’s not as hard to promise doing.”

The concept of it makes him happy too much that it lingers there, reverting back to calling you his term of endearment for you and that’s when you know that there’s nothing left unresolved between the two of you now.

“I like that, bear. You should try picking fights with me too. It’s fun sometimes, trust me!”

“I can tell,” you hum, blindly reaching out your arm to turn off the nightlight at your side.

“Yoongi likes that.”

“Stop talking about yourself in third person.”

“I think it’s already growing on me,” Yoongi admits, tilting his head and knowing for a fact that it would take more than fifteen minutes to sleep tonight while in thought.

“Is it gonna stick?” 

The groan leaves you automatically and by the lack of response, you already know your answer.

“Bear,” you hum. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna pick a fight with you tomorrow, alright?”

“M’kay! Remind me tomorrow what time you’re gonna start pissing me off, yeah?” he grins from ear to ear, not requiring a nightlight to see that your husband looks at you so fondly.

“Good night, baby,” Yoongi finally bids you, pressing a tender kiss right to your lips before tucking you with the comforter exactly how you liked it. “Loving you is my favorite part of the chase.”